It is compulsory whilst backpacking Australia to Do The East Coast or they'll revoke your backpacker card and you won't be able to bulk buy goon and noodles. Everyone does this coast, a lot of people only do this coast which is a damn shame because Western Australia is the best place in the world. I have to admit, I wasn't overly enthusiastic about it, I wanted to do it though because I knew I'd regret it if I didn't and anyway, I needed to get to a city where I could get work so I might as well do it in style so I duly borrowed £2000 (yep, that's pounds not dollars, Exchange Rate fans) off Mum and Dad. On account of the fact I'd rather chew my own fingers off than advertise for travel companions again and I hadn't met anyone who was leaving at the same time as me, I headed back up to Cape Tribulation all on my lonesome.
Today I was back out on the reef without several litres of goon sloshing around my veins and after a proper nights sleep. Odyssey H2O wasn't going out so I ended up on Rum Runner IX which is a bit slower and looks better although I couldn't help wondering what happened to the other eight. The conditions were loads calmer and the weather was awesome as well which helped, as did dosing myself up on seasick pills so I managed to spend the entire trip vertical as opposed to horizontal or bent over the side. Yay me.
It was an incredible day. For a start it was only me doing an intro dive so it was just me and the instructor floating around the reef looking at pretty things, the first time we were down for nearly an hour. The Mackay Reef itself is indescribable, after lunch we moved a bit so we could snorkel something called The Wall which is literally an 18 metre wall of coral and because visibility was about 25 metres that day we saw everything.
When I went back down for a second intro dive, Fabien grabbed my arm and pulled me down to a cave where he'd found a sleeping reef shark then proceeded to wake it up. Now normally I'd be against waking something up with that many pointy teeth, I know how evil I can be when I'm woken up but I was still in tourist mode which meant all common sense had been left in my backpack at PK's Jungle Village so we duly pissed it off further by following it around the reef and staring at it while it tried to get back to sleep in another cave.
Its no bloody wonder sharks bite people sometimes.
I checked into Scotty's backpackers and idly picked up a skydiving leaflet. Reception were on me instantly telling me all about prices, heights, discounts and roughly 20 seconds later I was stood there, credit card in hand, booked onto a 14000ft jump at 4:30pm. It was now 12:30pm. I went to my room to spend the ensuing 4 hours panicking and wondering if I should call my family to let them know my mortal remains would be available for viewing at various locations around Mission Beach.
Everyone staying at Scotty's has either thrown themselves out of a plane or is about to, there's always someone watching their jump DVD on the TVs and I didn't meet a single person who didn't love it which calmed me down so by the time I was on the plane I was loving it. I thought I'd shit myself when they sat me on the edge but I didn't and its not like you have any choice in the matter, you have a man attached to you who's intent on jumping out of that plane and you're going with him.
That split second when you go over the edge and see the ground coming towards you is unsurpassed by anything you will ever experience. I don't think I'm able to put it into words but I'll try.
Oh fuck it, I've never had a brilliant grasp of the English language, I'm from Stockport for fucks sake.
Since when you get to Mission Beach you watch a million skydive videos you're very aware of the camera during your 60 second free fall, terminal velocity doesn't make an attractive girl what with bingo wings that you could take a small country out with. You'll notice the grimace like grin in the fourth thumbnail above, designed to tighten the flesh on your face thus ensuring you don't knock the guy out in charge of pulling the parachute cord and thus keeping you intact with your flappy jowls.
Mission Beach is an amazing drop zone, on one side you have the rainforest and on the other you have the ocean. After the cord had been pulled and the parachute was open (and watching the DVD back, I'm glad I didn't realise how long it took for the 'chute to spread out and slow us down!) John, the only man to ever strap me up, said, "So, this is the view from my office window." And what a fucking beautiful view. My habit of putting myself in high places because I think it might be pretty at the top is well documented but this tops everything I've ever seen in Australia, I was the second person out of the plane and the last to land on the beach, I had an amazing float down to the ground, just taking in the views and enjoying being obscenely high up without a large metal tube with wings. If I had money this could get addictive.
That night I chilled at the hostel with a couple of girls from Wigan, Alison and Nat. They weren't in Oz for long, just a 3 week holiday doing the East Coast. I introduced them to the joy that is goon thus relieving Nat of unnecessary braincells and some stomach lining.
I vowed for the 436th time to never drink again.
Especially as neither of us can read maps.
We headed to Townsville via some pretty waterfalls, one of them being Wallaman Falls, the longest single drop waterfall in the Southern Hemisphere. Well you'd think they'd put it a bit bloody closer then wouldn't you instead of at the top of a big winding road up a mountain, they don't half like to make you work for your pretty things in Australia. Its the kind of distance where you expect someone to have put the kettle on and set up a camp bed for you for the night but not this time, we did the obligatory ooh ahh thing and drove back down.
And then it was onto our destination for the night. We rocked up just before 5pm and began the tedious task of trying to find somewhere to live. We pulled over and I called Globetrotters Backpackers to see if they had beds. They did and the following conversation ensued:
Bloke: Ok so when will you be here?Me: Well we're in Townsville now so it's just a case of finding Palmer Street.Bloke:Where are you now?Me: On Walker Street. I'm... erm...
Me: I'm looking at a big water tank thing on a hill with a big green frog on it.
Pause.
Bloke: Have you taken something??
Ahh, first impressions. I ended up taking that photo to prove to the bloke that I wasn't clinically insane, at least not on a discernible level. You should have seen his face when he first saw me and I tried to explain that there was a big green frog as well as some Nemo fish and a blue butterfly. He asked me if there were any little green spacemen as well.
Funny cunt.
Ok so Townsville. Its very nice but at the end of the day there's fuck all to do but gaze wistfully over at Magentic Island then proceed to book a trip there. It's also a Proper Town, more so than Cairns. Cairns is still very touristy, you can get away with lounging around the lagoon in the middle of town in your swimwear and you can still wander the streets in bare feet and a silly hat clutching your souvenir boomerang and toy koala. Townsville makes you want to buy hair gel and do laundry.
Pretty isn't it? After we'd attempted to go sea kayaking, given up and just drifted for a bit we spent the first day just chilling and deciding what to do the next day and we had our first Battle; Lesbian Beach Wrestling. Yeah I won, I kicked her Dutch arse into the sand. Hell yeah.
We'd already decided that we wanted to rent jetskis which is something you can do up at Horseshoe Bay which, from what I can gather, passes as the bustling hub of the island. They're not overly cheap to rent but you rent the jetski, its not per person and you can put two people on one. But then you wouldn't be able to race and where's the fun in that?
We opted for one each for half an hour and proceeded to tear up the ocean and you know what? You really can't tip them. I know, I tried. You can get up to 50mph on them (I think that's about 80kph?) but you're not allowed to get too close to each other. Me and Irma raced anyway and maybe she won most races, y'know, it's hard to tell an stuff what with us being so far away from each other and not really knowing where the finish line was and stuff and anyway I kicked her arse on the beach ok? Yeah. Ha.
After the jetskiing we bumped into some people we'd met at Mission Beach and went on one of the island's koala spotting walks. I was very nearly over koalas but I'd not seen them in the wild yet so we parked the Moke next to a million others at Forts Walk and wandered up to check out the furry little critters. We spotted loads of them, some of them even moved thus proving that koalas are real and not some great Australian hoax designed to lure tourists into the country.
It was around this time I remembered I'd left two gas bottles in my car in direct sunlight for three days. Nothing ends a holiday like thinking you might have blown your car up.
After a cruise out to the islands, the first stop was a bush walk on Whitsunday Island itself, the largest of the islands, up to a lookout for Hill Inlet to look at the pretty patterns the tide makes in the sand.
Bush walk. They make it sound so feral. Its not. If somebody suggests a bush walk in the Northern Territory or Western Australia you'd want to pack a bag, take plenty of water, don the sturdy boots and notify the local authorities of your estimated day of arrival. On the east coast a pair of flip flops will suffice as you make your way up the well used track, camera in one hand and make up bag in the other to ensure you look pretty for the photos. Although the destination in this case is worth a three day hike into the wilderness, its fucking beautiful, apparently the patterns are different every time the tide changes and if you look down to the left from the lookout platform you can make out about a hundred stingrays, a veritable Steve Irwin nightmare. Its awesome.
After we'd all oohed and ahhed and been herded round the platform like the tourists we were it was back to the boat and around the corner to Whitehaven Beach where we'd be having lunch. After we'd moored with the plethora of other tour boats, we were given the option to swim to shore from the boat this time instead of going over in the dingy, it wasn't too far.
Ahh, swimming in the tropics during stinger season, if you yearn for the days when it was acceptable to wear lycra, when cycling shorts were worn by everyone whether they owned a bicycle or not, when you wouldn't be openly mocked for walking down the street wearing clothes that look like they were painted on whilst you admired your wet perm in car windows, you'd love it. The only safe way to get in the water is to wear a stinger suit, an all over lycra body suit that includes a hood, mittens and straps that go under your feet reminiscent of the days of ski pants. Its a retro wet dream.
Whitehaven Beach is gorgeous with its soft, white sands and crystal, blue water, the only other time I've seen a beach so postcard perfect was at Lucky Bay in the Cape Le Grand National Park near Esperance and there's no stingers there. Just hypothermia and frost bite. Don't ever expect to get Whitehaven to yourself though, it's just never going to happen.
So we had the promised BBQ on the beach and stuffed our faces with meat products before jumping back on the boat (in the dingy this time) and headed to Mantaray Bay for some snorkelling around the coral there. I was back in my lycra and into the ocean and by the time I got back to the boat Irma had already got in, snorkelled, got out and dried thus depriving me of any chance of pointing and laughing at her in a full stinger suit. Damnit. That was going to be the highlight of my trip an all.
We reckoned a day trip was enough for the Whitsundays, we saw everything we wanted to and had an awesome day. If you're not on a tight budget like we were then maybe a two night effort would be a laugh but for the lower price a day trip was perfect for us.
There are two hostels that we know of here, the one that looked like fun was full and the other one which only had one bed left anyway banned alcohol, parties and television after midnight. As if spending the night in Mackay wasn't bad enough! By this time we were both feeling pretty crap after a week of bad diet, my gums had started bleeding a bit as well so I decided I probably had scurvy and we both felt generally run down. We decided to camp for the night and use the money we saved to buy Proper Food. We ended up at the bowling club up the road from the site which did $10 meals, I think we were the only people in the place that didn't have to take their teeth out to clean them.
Anyway, the general consensus on this one was that Mackay sucks balls. Geriatric ones at that.