From Yeppoon we sailed to Great Keppel Island, a roughly one-hour journey from the coast. They boat, which doubles as a tour operator for those who wish to see the island and the surrounding coral the easy way, dropped us off on a long stretch of white beach, that apart from the handful of intrepid travelers such as we, was completely deserted. Grabbing some snorkeling gear from a small shack that seemed to be the only operation that provided such a service, we began what was to become an epic trek through the island’s rocky interior to the nearest beach. The long, and mostly uphill, march (until it became strikingly downhill) was made all the more challenging by the lack of grip and support provided by my loose-fitting flip-flops.
The cool, refreshing sensation of the ocean waves couldn’t have been more welcoming after such an extreme and unexpected workout. With masses of coral just metres from the shore, Laura and I took advantage of the light piercing through the shallow waters to marvel at the myriad colours of the variety of fish that call the reef home. So caught up were we in the idea that after so much trial and error over the past week that we had actually succeeded in getting a front row seat to the Great Barrier Reef, that we failed to realize just how swift the current was as the tide began to go out. Coming to the surface for a quick breather, it took me a moment to come to the realization that the reason the boat that had seemed to be just metres away just minutes ago was getting smaller was not because of an optical illusion created by my goggles, but by the fact that we were slowly getting further and further away from it.
I became all too aware of the silence that filled the air around us, even the cries of birds had ceased. The few pleasure boats that were moored close to the shore, whose inhabitants we’d seen mere minutes ago, now seemed completely vacant, as if the boats themselves had been abandoned. More concerned about Laura than myself, for she had left her slippers on the shore, I kept close, much to her chagrin. Could she not feel the pull of the tide? Was she not beginning to tire from having to fight against the current? Was she not even the slightest concerned? Of course not, it’s Laura, whose incorruptible belief that everything will prove to be fine was right once again. Needless to say, as we collapsed on the sandy beach, I was more than happy to be back on solid ground.
As wonderful as Great Keppel was, it did little to prepare us for the following day. Returning to 1770 to make good on the tour that the weather had cancelled, we sailed aboard the ‘Spirit of 1770’ for nearly two hours out to sea before finally arriving at Lady Musgrave Island. The island, itself comprised entirely of crushed coral, was surrounded on all sides by coral reef, except for a small channel that allowed boats to enter the naturally formed lagoon.
After touring the island inhabited by literally thousands the sea-faring ‘noddy’ birds who were in the process of building their nests as we walked by, we returned to the boat and strapped on our gear and dove into the depths of the ocean. The coral here was enormous and alive with brilliant colours. Hundreds of species of fish, as well as sea turtles and stingrays call the reef home., and there was a constant dizzying display of colour and movement. While we don’t normally enlist the aid of a tour operator (not that we had a choice in the matter here), we were both extremely impressed with the staff and the services the tour provided. Even if you’re not the deepwater type, you can still get a front row seat of the coral lagoon through the glass-bottom boats that cruise just above the coral for you to witness in full view.
Having spent almost the entire day just off the island, I was quite surprised at how much of the reef became exposed as the tides went out in the late-afternoon. This provided a more acute picture of what made the reef such a ‘barrier.’ Stretching out as far as the horizon were masses of coral tanning in the midday sun, creating the image of a near-impenetrable walled fortress between the open sea and the continent to the west. It really was quite an impressive sight.
The next morning we packed up our gear and began the long trip back to Brisbane, where we were to fly out of the following night. After stopping to mail a postcard to my grade four teacher to verify the fact that I had actually made it to the land down under (for real this time), we set off on the open road. Music blaring, sun shining and the cool breeze wafting through the open windows of our car, there was a feeling of satisfaction and fulfillment. There was a real sense that we had done this trip right. That we’d experienced this small corner of Australia and what it had to offer the way the Aussie’s do it.
And that’s when the red and blues began to flash. Pulling over, I was greeted by the kindest police officer I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Of course, I should have been prepared for that, seeing as how everyone in Australia, it seemed, went to great lengths to make it clear that they were the kindest and most hospitable people on the planet (even when they did comment on how ‘thick’ my accent was). I thought by being honest and sincere that I would at least walk away with a warning. I was a tourist after all. Was issuing a speeding ticket the kind of note the Queensland Transit Authority would want a visitor to end on after a perfectly enjoyable experience in this fair state? Was this the last image they wanted to leave me with after spending an incredible week in this most excellent country?
Apparently, yes.
Next: Cubic Monkey Down Under!
No comments:
Post a Comment