I tend not to go into any form of details concerning our Greyhound trips, there is simply no point. They are a necessary element of travelling, get us to point A-B and do so with minimal comforts or luxuries. However, the one point that is noteworthy concerning 1770 to Rainbow Beach was at about 11am when our state of the art air conditioning system decided to resign, and left us with a 30° final leg of the journey. Now, I know I very rarely attract any sympathy from England upon the subject of high temperatures on my year out, but Guantanamo called, they said they’d like their living conditions back...
However, 2 hours later, we arrived bad tempered and damp into Rainbow Beach, the closest portal for all prospective Frasier Island visitors, of which we belonged to. Rainbow Beach itself is not even worthy of the classification “town”. It consists of a mini-mart, 3 hostels, 2 pubs, a restaurant and a bar. But, the feel of the place is worthy of the name, both stress and rushing were successfully vaccinated against in Rainbow Beach in the year 1822, and they have never looked back since. If you want a quick meal, an accountant or even an ambulance, Rainbow Beach is not the place for you; therefore, it certainly was a place for me. At our hostel we stayed in a small semi-canvas two bunk dorm that looked out onto the fire pit, which was the hub of all socialising at the hostel. Sadly, as with 1770, we were destined to not spend much time in the hostel itself. With the 2 day/3 night Frasier trip the next morning, and the preparations for it starting at 4pm that very afternoon, we had just enough time to take a stroll to the beach and get a bite to eat before it was time to get back into the productivity mode which was so rightly discouraged in Rainbow Beach.
We met the group we’d be calling family for the next few days, were given a classic 1960’s-esque safety briefing on the dangers of driving on sand, and then were told to go do our food shop with our group for the next few days. As is usually the way with such things, we were paired with three teetotallers, two girls that don’t eat chicken or beef, and one that didn’t eat pork, life without challenge isn’t really life at all it seems! So, after some organisational planning that even the caterers for the U.N would be proud of, we were officially ready for Frasier Island. The next morning, at 7am sharp, we met our group leader for the next few days, a Kiwi named Harps who would soon to be joining Bruce in the realms of traveller lore as another legend of the year. Whilst I’m doing introductions, I may as well do a quick run through our group. Aside from the usual suspects of Ben, Whisken, Sim and myself, we had another 4 people to add our car and 7 more in Harps car. Our car was topped up with Nicole (a tall German redhead with a slight American accent and Ipod which kept us very well entertained for 3 days straight), David (Nicole’s French hyper-romantic boyfriend who had some of the most outrageous volleyball talents the world has ever seen), Frazer (A fierce French girl who stubbornly disapproved of my attempts at a French accent, who ultimately suffered for admitting to such a flaw) and Zach (her French friend who, if memory serves, didn’t say a fully completed sentence to me in 3 days). I, with my vast Nissan Micra driving experience, volunteered to drive first, upon the firm logical standpoint that if I can’t drive on tarmac, I probably shouldn’t be driving on sand. The step up from Micra to Land Crusier is akin to enhancing the Micra with a steam furnace under the bonnet, adding a medium sized hippopotamus to the roof and adding rotating step ladders underneath each of the four wheels. Weird car to drive, but within the first10 minutes on Frasier, there’s no way I could ever speak badly of a Land Crusier again for as long as I shall live.
The first day consisted of visiting Lake Mackenzie in a small secluded section known as secret beach which, unsurprisingly, had no other people in sight. We stuck around for a couple of hours playing volleyball, football and the like, but the finest bit was a little bit more feminine than either of those (even the volleyball!). The sand at the bottom of the freshwater lake is so fine that it doubles as an exfoliant and conditioner. So we ensured that we all L’Oreal’d it to the max, and trying my best to not sound like the blurb of a bottle of shampoo, the results were instantly noticeable, were long lasting and was unlike anything you’ve ever felt before (I never said I was trying hard...). After we’d finished we had a quick sample of inland off-roading, a small tour of an old logging site and then headed back to our home for the next two nights. Our campsite was, simply, awesome. It was the only site on the island that was allowed an open fire, had hot showers and proper toilets, a sheltered cooking area and pre-set up tents. It was also home to multiple packs of dingoes, which added a little bit of excitement to the spontaneous loo trips, but also hammered home the authenticity of where we were. After dinner Harps set up the acoustic and started the campfire songs going, which were greatly appreciated from yours truly and then a burst of dramatic lightning stormage called an end to the night and we all retreated to our tents for the night.
The second day we started off with a trip to a small freshwater lake which was home to hundreds of fresh-water terrapins that were in dire need of some tourist-orientated feeding. Harps showed us the correct way to hold them, so once we’d satisfied our curiosity towards the terrapins, which took be a lot longer than the average, we headed on to our next stop; Indian Head. On the way, Harps showed us an area which overlooked the largest dune in Australia which also, rather morbidly, doubled as a mass aboriginal gravesite following a massacre and forming yet another black mark in the history of the English speaking peoples. Indian Head itself is a high rocky peninsula overlooking the entire East coast of the island with visible rocks and sharks milling around the base in the sea. It was also another site of English barbarism when they forced 2000 aborigines to either jump or be shot; needless to say there were no survivors. Harps himself is a Maori and an honorary member of the local Aborigine tribe so refuses to go up there and speaks very aggressively upon the subject, it was a pretty sobering sort of moment but, counterintuitively, one of the more beautiful views. A strange sort of combination to say the least! And finally we headed for the champagne pools, a small group of rock circles which collect the seawater as it comes in, and then retains it as the tide recedes. Because the sea off of Frasier is prohibited as far as swimming goes (due to the strong currents, sharks, jellyfish and other Australianisms), the pools are quite popular, but we managed to go and score ourselves our own little pool. The pools are warmed by the sun, but as you’re sitting there the waves crash against the rock pool and provide a little bit of cooling to provide the perfect Australian sort of climate. We even managed to slide in a bit of international, intergroup beach football, we lost 2-1 is the answer to your question, although the second goal did have a touch of offside to it...
Our final night was the night to celebrate and take it easy, with Harps leading the way. Another campfire was lit, more songs were sung, more goon was consumed and more merriment was had. So it was with a slightly sore head that we awoke on our third and final day, and by that time, our group had formed into a set of firm friends. The final activity for the trip was an hour hike to Lake Waikiki, a perfectly clear freshwater lake next to some dunes with a bordering of dense forest. The prospect of the hike (and alternative of buffet) proved too much for some, so Whisken, me, Nicole, David and four others made the hike on our own and, one hour later, were elated with our decision to do so. The lake was probably the most genuinely beautiful part of the whole trip, and we had to share the little gem of a secret retreat with absolutely no-one. However, once we had swam for an hour or so, and trekked back we were aware the only remaining part of the trip was the ride back. We’d all got pretty close over the past 3 days and weren’t looking forward to the prospect of our separation. Me and Harps had chatted quite a lot over the past three days as well and he suggested the idea of a farewell meal when we got back to Rainbow Beach, after a very very brief consultation with the rest of the group, we decided to meet at 8 for a big last dinner. The night itself was awesome, and a great send off for an awesome tour. There is way too much detail that I could include to do the trip justice, but seeing as I’ve perpetually struggled with conciseness from the off, I’ll have to leave some of these details out. But it was a trip of many firsts, and a great attempt at following on from the greatness that was Castaway. Driving down the beach, alongside the coast line at sunset... Offered me that a year ago and I’d have snapped your hand off!
R
R
No comments:
Post a Comment