No More North

Nobby continued to be an interesting find this morning after a night free of rail transport.

My small new best friend, Pumpkin, was outside my door bright and early with a stick for us both to play with. Each time she would drop the stick at my feet, she would just as quickly grab one end and fight me for it. The throwing of the stick was a secondary feature of the game Pumpkin had designed.mI ate a hearty breakfast in the sunshine and then drafted another poem before having an APC bath and packing up the camper. By that stage it was time for coffee so I went across to the General Store for conversation and coffee.

As a result, I went back across the road further up to the Sister Elizabeth Kenny Room - a new structure which has been built from donations to honour a former resident of Nobby who went on to develop a new treatment for polio which took her to more fame in the USA than in her country of origin. Born in Warialda, NSW, in 1880, her family came to live in Nobby when she was 19 and following the support and encouragement of Dr Aeneas McDonnell, a doctor from Toowoomba,

Elizabeth trained as a nurse in 1905 and was soon installed as the Bush Nurse for her home area. In 1910, polio came like a plague to strike down children in Australia and was dealt with by physicians in the time honoured way of placing twisted limbs in calipers and backs bent in wicked shapes into heavily constrictive corsets with steel ribbing. Sister Kenny faced her first case of polio in 1911 when a local 10 year old girl was soon in agony. After consulting Dr McDonnell, Kenny decided to try an alternate method of treatment of hot flannel strips placed on the major muscle groups, gentle massage and mild exercise - both the basis of what would become known as the Kenny Method and one of the earliest forms of physiotherapy.

Sister Kenny spent the Great War travelling with wounded soldiers as they made the long ship journey from England to Australia, making 12 journeys in all. In 1925, Sister Kenny started the first CWA Branch in Nobby and in 1928, she designed and built a new type of stretcher which she called the Sylvia Stretcher after the patient she designed it for. Sister Kenny continued to treat her patients and spreading the technique across Australia but not everyone was happy with her work. In 1937, a Royal Commission instigated by the Qld Government found that the failure to apply calipers placed young bodies in grave jeopardy. The public reaction was one of furore and soon after, the Qld government refused to accept the Royal Commission finding and endorsed the Kenny Method. In fact, in 1939, the Qld Government paid for Sister Kenny to travel to America to show the medical fraternity there her Method for treating polio.

It was here her fame was made and her method completely endorsed and nine times during the 1940's she was second only to Eleanor Roosevelt as America's most admired woman. From such a humble beginning, this amazing lady with such strength of character changed the lives of young polio sufferers to such an extent that it wasn't until polio vaccine came along that a bigger impact was made. All of this, in a small country village proud of this wonderful lady who was from among them, so long ago.

My last experiences of Nobby were a tour of the excellent facilities at the Rudd Pub by a proud publican Sam and an invitation to take pictures in someone's backyard of a family of Tawny Frogmouths, perched on a tree. I left copies of my book with some interested conversationalists from the night before and went back to the real world.

Lunch was in Warwick and included a visit to the Regional Art Gallery where I made my last holiday purchase. I took a drive to Killarney only to realise I was about to visit waterfalls I had seen with Sue at the start of this tour! Tail between legs, I turned back toward the New England Highway and the way home.

Like gravity on an ageing piece of space junk, the closer my orbit comes to home, the stronger the pull and this afternoon I have been straight lining my way home, possibly because the territory within 300kms of home is so familiar and mostly because I am bored with my own company. So bored I would blog on my phone in a certain Scottish restaurant.

TODAY'S PHOTOS

I don't want to go home. I don't want to do same things every week. I like these days of new horizons and new days and things to learn and wrap safely in my words, my precious trusted friends which give me air to breath and reasons to open the front door. At home, subtle chains slip around me with lead weights of responsibility - Peter Pan has to bid ticking crocodiles goodbye and become a prisoner of men who know nothing of mangroves, or cattle egrets or a Geraldton sunset or standing in the 65 year old footsteps of a man you'll never meet but only admire. Back home life will slowly leech from me in mundane conversations which loop endlessly.

200kms to go - Major Tom to Ground Control ...

Nobby

I know the title of today's post seems improbable but more on that later.

It rained during the night, making my decision to continue erecting the awning a good one and although I had a deal of trouble getting myself into the sleep state, once there, I resided soundly until woken at 6:30am by the rude interruption of a rather unpleasant dream. I increasingly have come to believe that these nightmares are behind me but unfortunately, they still make their way far enough up from conscience to cause havoc. This morning's episode was certainly no exception and made all the more difficult because there was no Sue to turn to for solace and reassurance. I did my best on my own.

That said, I ate a hearty breakfast and was packed and on the road just after 8:00 with the road ahead still full of surprises. The first fifteen kms provided a replay of the fabulously stark sandstone cliffs of Cania Gorge and I stopped to snap a few photos before turning onto the Burnett Highway which took me at a comfortable pace through Monto, Eidsvold and finally onto Mundubbera.

Situated in the heart of a citrus growing area, it naturally adds The Big Mandarin to the world of "big things" in Australia - on this trip alone we have seen the Big Mango, The Big Gumboot and now, I have witnessed the Big Mandarin. This viewing was not as east as others I have made, as the Big Mandy is not freely available to the public as it was grown in the private orchard of a caravan park. Viewing was free if you were a guest of the park and others had to pay for the privilege. I took exception to this rule and determined to launch a commando raid on the Big Mandy. My accomplice in this was Bob, a GN whose wife collects Big Thing photos. I climbed a tree and dropped into the compound and Bob handed me both cameras. After snapping the shots, I walked calmly passed the lady on the gate and gave her a self-satisfied smile. Bob was thrilled and his Missus - I guess it was his missus, you can't tell these days - gave me a big kiss.

After the thrill of the becoming one of the Dirty Baker's Dozen, I went into town looking for coffee and found a nice cup at the Bakery, along with a silverside and salad role ... well, the second one as the first one had a fly buzzing about under the clingwrap. That would be my lunch - the roll, not the fly. As usual, I asked lots of questions to which I got the one answer - "dunno". Despite this I went out for a walk along the main street. I have never seen so many funny business names in the one place. The second hand store was run by "The Dodgey Brothers"; the discount store was "Wayne's World"; the BP petrol station also sold "Korean Vegetables"; and the real estate agent was "GV Lohse", pronounced, and yes I checked it, "louse".

I was still laughing 25kms later, although the state of the road left a lot to be desired. It was one lane bitumen with suspension busting broken edges and in many places, wet soft mud lining both sides. Luckily, in more than fifty kilometers of these conditions, I only saw one other vehicle. I stopped near the historic homestead of Boondooma, at Carters Corner, where a grove of Bottle Trees have been planted and a lone covered picnic table was waiting for me. In the half hour during which I ate lunch, 24 vehicle, including 5 trucks went past in the opposite direction. I was certainly being looked after!

After lunch the conditions continued, although there were sprinklings of better road in between the bad. By the time I had left Durong South, Darr Creek and Jinghi behind me and reached Jandowea, it was two lane black top again and the major centre of Dalby wasn't far after.

Here's a thing: I think the good folk of Jandowea are missing a tourism chance. Surely they could promote themselves as The Gateway To Dalby!

I made the long run to, through and out of Toowoomba and started thinking on settling for the afternoon and with Warwick approaching, it seemed the logical spot. I had even rung and booked a site when a sign loomed up, advising that the turn off to "Rudd's Pub" was approaching. I don't know why, but I was interested and soon after making the turn, I was further advised that "Rudd's Pub" was to be found in the village of Nobby, a few kms hence. Now I was fascinated and as it turns out, totally justified in my decision.

Nobby is a small village but with many old and interesting buildings. Arthur Hoey Davis, aka Steel Rudd, wrote the famous farming father and son Dad and Dave into Australian literary history and did so from Nobby and from his farm called "Two Firs". It was at Nobby where Davis quietly imbibed ales whilst listening to and watching fellow farmers and it is thought they provided the rich characterisations for "On Our Selection", which have been mimicked ever since. The pub is full of local history and with camping available over the road - "two bucks mate if you want power" - it was an opportunity I have learned to accept. I had a few beers with locals during the afternoon and had summed this establishment up as a old pub which would struggle to do more than make a living. Sunset undid that conclusion, as people just kept arriving in cars, semi trailers and yes, believe it or not, on horse back. All told, 45 dinner guests and the service was quick and the food delicious. In my small part of the dining room, black and white photos jostled for space on the walls and detailed the history of Nobby. After eating, words were soon running out on the page and I even managed to squeeze in a half hour discussion with one of the local Rotarians. What a fabulous night ...

TODAY'S PHOTOS

... and then the first 35 car freight train rumbled past, horns blaring at the level crossing. As I finish this entry, the second has done an equivalent job, travelling in the opposite direction.

Where did I put those tablets?

A Little Less North to Cania Gorge

Burnett Highway, looking towards
Rockhampton from near Mt Morgan

I started this morning with good intentions and they were all taking me down the Bruce Highway, but somehow, when I reached Rockhampton, I headed inland instead. I had a brilliant night's sleep for me ... eight hours straight with no interruptions for toilet or noises or anything, just head on the pillow and out to it stuff. It doesn't happen often and it was a good night for it.

To that change of direction at Rockhampton ... I just followed an instinct and turned to Mt Morgan but as the day panned out, I'm glad I did. In the long run it was much more like a normal touring day - 288kms and lots of stops to fulfill interest.

The climb over the range to access Mt Morgan was a memorable one, with a narrow but well surfaced bitumen road climbing slowly and steeply up the side of the range with one memorable stop near the top to soak up the view. Rockhampton lay off in the distance, nestled, almost hand placed between mountains. It was one of those perfect blue sky and billowing white cloud days that make it impossible to take a bad picture, regardless of your ability. I had promised myself I wouldn't send mouth watering pictures of landscapes to Sue to magnify her woes but I just couldn't help myself because it was too good a view not to share.

From here it was a short hop to the township of Mt Morgan which for some reason fascinated me. Like many places in rural Australia, Mt Morgan became a town around the gold deposits found in its hills but unlike many others, it has survived well past its useby date. The hotels are antiques of their original time but are still popular with locals. The main street is, unusually, at right angles to the passage of the Burnett Highway and has three cafes, a museum, a video shop but no bank.

On opposite side of the road is the primary school which caters for children's dietary needs with no canteen but a staff member on duty at the pedestrian crossing ideally located just over the crest of a hill. The teacher on duty today was enjoying a fag or two under the shade of the fig tree growing in the middle of the street whilst children came and went with their hamburgers, thick shakes and hot chips. Bizzare was the word which stuck me first.

Mt Morgan has become a legend in its own lunchbox with its May Day Festival which brings people from near and far to listen to music, participate in the street markets and gather in masculine teams to "Run The Cutter" - a strange drinking game in which a pail of liquid is shifted from one pub to the other in between sculls.

The streets are full of heritage buildings which all needed a paint today. The former railway station is also the information centre and the ladies there were extremely friendly: one was friendly enough to buy my book so she has today's soft spot. More people wandered the streets in this town than any other place we've been and they were a strange collection. An odd little place but one I found hard to leave. There was a new poem on every corner.

However, leave I did and before long I was turning away from the Burnett Highway, going south to Biloela. The drive was straight forward but Biloela was a surprise, being much bigger than I had imagined and well serviced. I had an excellent chicken Caesar salad and mocha at Kristine's Cafe and then added some supplies for the few days left until home at the friendliest Woolworths you could imagine; which included having my two bags carried to the car for me by a pleasant 15 year old who asked me about 47 questions in the time it took to get from the checkout to the car. These/those were the days. I fueled up again in order to given me flexibility and then struck out for some place starting with M ... two of them actually but I never reached either because I followed a whim and turned into Cania Gorge National Park.

After only 14 kms, I could see why the area was a NP, with sheer sandstone cliffs rising from the river floor on alternate sides. Before leaving the car, I was already impressed. I drove past two commercial caravan parks in driving the full length of the gorge, arriving at the Cania Dam after about twenty minutes. Clearly the damn can hold more but it still made for pretty images.

Returning a few kms from where I had come, I landed at a Big 4 caravan park which has all the pluses you might want in such accommodation but is set out in a bush setting and creates the feeling of being low key. Obviously a busy place at sometime of the year, my site was not within 30m of the nearest other. The camp kitchen is an enormous cola and the swimming pools are all saltwater and well maintained - I sampled both. At 5:00pm, wild birds are fed and what a great show they put on. I followed this with a swim and shower and then made my way to the camp kitchen for a lonely pasta, only to find the company of a guy from Tamworth and his three fishing mates from Dubbo who are in transit to Lucinda - things in common in all directions. To make matters more bizarre, the Tamworth fisherman was familiar enough with my poetry to quote storyline and concepts. This was very weird as all four had presented as tough nut, Aussie blokes before the fellow from Tamworth "realised" who I was. You don't always need melting clocks to experience surrealism.

TODAY'S PHOTOS

A lovely day.

I probably should feel guilty for having garnished enjoyment whilst my poor wife suffers at home but I won't. This atones for tears yesterday.

Townsville to Kinka Beach

Starts don't come much earlier than today with the alarm tolling at 4:15am in order that I could have Sue at the airport for check in at 5:00am.

We went through the usual airport things including the obligatory security check. Top points to the Townsville security officers who accepted my absent mindedness in still having my knife on my belt when I presented. A lovely lady there took my offered knife and kept it in a safe place until my return. We had very little time to wait, as Sue, wheelchair bound, was first loaded on the plane and there was no time for emotional farewells, a short peck having to suffice for us both until the weekend. Sue, managing her pain and preoccupied didn't look back or perform and final wistful wave and I was left standing among strangers who just stared and waited as though there should be a postscript to the parting. I turned, fighting the first pangs which would stab me all day, collected my knife and headed for the hills ... literally, Castle Hill, a Townsville landmark which lies between the centre of town and the well healed shoreline.

Like most mornings, in a scene reminiscent of Uluru, the steep road which ascends Castle Hill is a hive of activity as people of all ages and readiness for heart attack, walk, run or stagger to the top of this 286 metre high pink granite monolith. The derivation of its name is no surprise as it looks for all the world the type of landform which would have been fortified in medieval times. As to the fixation with "conquering" the climb I am loath to offer the excuse "because it is there" as it holds no logic because the flat and go on forever Ingham Rd is there too and presumably also needs conquering but I saw no sweat jockeys there.

As I am nursing a damaged knee and for reasons of not being a complete idiot, I was content to weave in and out of people in various stages of apoplexy as I showed them how the ascent is done ... in my Forester. Some even bothered to give me dirty looks.

As I reached the summit, the sun was managing its first greeting on a cliff face of Mt Stuart, behind Townsville and beginning to light the surface of the Ross River. I was able to watch the take off of Sue's plane. I waved and blew kisses but Sue just seemed to ignore me, too intent on the imminent serving of breakfast and the movie full of tall guys that was just starting ... or perhaps the pain.

After stepping over several folks making resolutions and Labradors who wished for blind owners, I must admit that the sight of a guy pedalling his adapted road bike into the car park at the top of Castle Hill with one leg and the other, a titanium stick strapped to the side of the bike made me glad I gave up smoking and pleased I take the little pills to stop me being that determined. I got to wondering if he had back pedal brakes for the return trip.

The plan was that I was to break camp, leave the trailer with Jim & Judy Parsons for the day and follow my wife's instructions and go sightseeing. I did something very close to that plan. I packed up the car and trailer and hit the road.

The first stop was Airlie Beach, which appears to be for the beautiful people and the ugly rich. It certainly is beautiful with that postcard turquoise blue water, white sand, coconut trees lining the beaches and every shade of green imaginable, include those passing through who were subject to envy. There is even an inlet which runs into the town where you can feed the fish and watch the string rays.

I somehow managed to snag a park where no trailer parks existed, right at the beach and ate lunch and wrote some poetry, sharing a park bench with a friendly lass who claimed to be a major in literature and thought I was brilliant. A young couple nearby seemed to be undergoing some form of training for sucba diving, as they locked mouths for fifteen to twenty minutes at a time without requiring breath ... either that or the braces on their teeth were locked together, which might explain the way their heads were turning vigorously from side to side. I took lots of photos of the place to show Sue. Think Byron, think Cable Beach and then think prettier and you have the picture.

The rest of the afternoon was spent driving, as I was keen to get a long leg out of the way on the first day. The highlight was driving behind Skooby Doo ... which only reminded me of my girl again.

Sunset at Emu Park

I stopped occasionally for fuel or photos and eventually arrived at Kinka Beach about 6:30pm. I came back here because it was a place Sue loved. I had a rather nice pasta at the pub at Emu Park and was ready to head back to the digs when I spied a big, fat, red moon just peeking over Great Keppel Island so I drove up to the Singing Ship and soaked it all in and attempted to capture it with the cameras. This scene made sure I finished the day where I started it, missing Sue.

TODAY'S PHOTOS

Meanwhile Sue was back in Tamworth by mid afternoon, looked after mid journey by Sarah at Sydney airport and once she was home by a friend - Robyn Crosby - and then tonight by Chris and Sam. She's surrounded by people who will look after her.

I worked on some poems and snuggled into my empty bed.

Townsville Still

Another hot day in Townsville after a better night. Sue slept through most of the night and has decided to stay on the heavy duty pain killers for 24 hours in preparation for the flight(s) home.

She amanged to come out for a drive around midday, so I took her along The Strand which runs along the ocean shore and then up to the lookout on Castle Hill. She was only able to get out of the car briefly for a quick look at the view and then it was back to he bed at the caravan park. We've watched more tevelevision in the last two days than in the previous four weeks.

Its an early start in the morning with a 4:15am wake up alarm and a 5:00am check in at the airport. The sadness in the situation is just starting to set in.

Cardwell

We had the day off today. In included:

• a sleep in
• some internet surfing
• a few thoughts about our remaining itinerary
• a weather check
• a 4km walk to town and back
• good coffee and some writing in a local cafe
• contact with a Rainbow Bee Eater (a June Bird)
• writing (me)
• reading (Sue)
• an afternoon sleep (Sue again)
• posting some poems and photos on my ABC site
• dinner at Annie's Kitchen (another local cafe)

I drafted two poems. One about a mythical swimming hole which is amalgum of places we have seen across Australia and rose out of my dislike of the human cavalcade that roared through Mossman Gorge. The other was an ode to Mick Casey, our guide for the memorable Daintree River tour.

TODAY'S PHOTOS

Nice to have a day writing, if only to let my brain have a rest for a few days as I've been composing these poems in my head for five or six days. We think we'll take a cruise around Hinchinbrook Island tomorrow and then back to Townsville to see our friends Jim and Judy again.

Atherton to Cardwell

Palmerston Highway

Ever vigilant of weather forecasts, it became apparent if we stayed for a third night in Atherton we would be sitting under two inches of rain and packing up in same. Our first option was to head to Undara Lava Tubes early but as we tried to book accommodation we discovered that we should have booked four days in advance. We hadn't struck this before on this trip and it forced our hand somewhat, so that we rearranged our itinerary and headed for the coast. Along the way, we managed to take in much of what we had planned for the southern part of the Atherton Tableland.

We went north first, to keep an appointment with Bill from the Tolga Historical Society. He had taken our cause to find out more about Sue's dad John Gibbens and his time on the Atherton Tableland from 1943-45 very seriously. He had pages photocopied from the internet, photos from the records he held and a variety of other information, including the very map which helped us locate the spot where John's unit was camped. We couldn't thank him enough.

After a coffee at an art gallery across the road from Bill and the purchase of a locally written book about the field hospital, we were finally heading south for some attractions near Malanda.

The first of these was the Curtain Fig, a huge example of a strangler fig which has formed a large screen of smaller roots which resemble a curtain. Strangler figs start as seed high up in the top canopy of the rainforest, usually placed there by birds. From here, they extends roots to the ground which grow over hundreds of years into a web which closes in around the host tree, gradually surrounding and killing it so that a new strong life form remains in place of the original tree. After this we went into Malanda and had lunch at the falls on the North Johnstone River which are right in town, beside the information centre. We had our photo taken five or six times because we were sitting in a public picnic space which had the level of the 1967 flood painted on it.

After lunch we drove out to the Nerada Tea Plantation. Rain was now falling. As you would expect, there were no tours this afternoon so we had the choice of having a pot of tea, buying some murch or moving on. We moved on.

TODAY'S PHOTOS

The drive off the Atherton Tableland through Millaa Millaa and Palmerston was a very pretty one, especially after we made several stops to see waterfalls and lookouts along the way but the rain kept falling and as the afternoon ran on, the steep winding roads and the rain started to make it hard work. As we reached the coast again, the weather improved and it was straight run down to Cardwell.

Tomorrow is our first rest day of the tour with nothing planned.

The Atherton Region

Rocky Creek Field
Hospital

What a surprising day ... no, what a remarkable day. We set out this morning after mundane tasks like washing had been completed and we had no way of knowing what twists and turns would bring us to such a moving conclusion by the afternoon.

The plan was to visit Jaques Coffee Plantation, located to the east of Mareeba but along the way, we wanted to investigate a war memorial Sue had observed on the roadside as we drove towards Atherton yesterday afternoon. Located beside the main road between Mareeba and Atherton and adjacent to the rail line which had once boasted a siding here named Rocky Creek, this was the site of an Army Field Hospital which combined the resources of a number of medical units which made it, in 1944, the largest hospital - army or civilian - in the southern hemisphere. It specialised in the treatment of malaria, even experimenting to find cures using paid recruits from among the healthy troops. Apart from a few building, the rest of the accommodation, including wards, were under canvass.

As family members of Sue's mob know, their father suffered from and was treated for malaria whilst on the Atherton Tablelands when stationed there with the 2/3rd Commandos during their prolonged 17 month posting from late 1943 on. Therefore, as we walked among the cement floor spaces of buildings such as latrines, kitchens and ablutions, we knew we were walking through the same space in another time as John Gibbens.

It is a moving place, especially with the addition of new plaques attached to large granite rocks bearing the details of the units who who lived and worked in the Atherton region every year on VJ Day. The 2/3rd Commandos are yet to make their appearance in this field of honour as their ghosts wait for families to put forward the money needed to pay for their recognition. This is something which needs to be redressed.

We stopped to make further inquiries from the Historical Society in Mareeba and they suggested we speak with the volunteers at the Tolga Historical Museum, which we decided to do in the afternoon on the way back to Atherton.

Jacques Coffee Plantation, a unique business which holds a niche place in a competitive market and has reached this position through great tenacity. The Jacques left East Tanzania, under the shadow of Mount Kilimanjaro and came to Australia in the early 1980's, hitting the road with a caravan unit piggybacked on a ute, looking for the best place to grow coffee in Australia. They settled on site near to this eventual one and had the business growing until the economic crisis of the middle to late 80's wiped them out. They came to the present site and started again and again, they had a strong growing business in their fifth year of the new operation and about to reap their first harvest when the Qld Dept of Primary Industry claimed they had a fruit fly infestation and destroyed every coffee tree on the plantation. Amazingly, they started again and have battled to establish themselves for a third time, with their two sons now taking the primary role in running the business.

Jacques now have 80% of the Australian grown coffee market, with bulk of the rest coming from the Byron Bay area. All other "Australian" coffee producers do not use Australian grown beans, importing theirs cheaply from overseas and roasting them in Australia. We were given an overview of the operation via a audio visual presentation which was also home grown and a tour of the plantation followed. Our visit finished with coffee and coffee liqueur back at the visitors centre.

We had lunch in a park in Mareeba and then dropped in on the Tolga Historical Society's building, an old railway carriage on the main highway. Here we met Bill, a Vietnam vet and volunteer. After initially thinking he might not be able to help us, he proved to be quite a conversationalist. Sue and I then moved off to examine materials that were available on walls and in folders. It was then I made the discovery of an Army topographical map of the area from 1944 which showed the location of units at that time. Spanning the map for signs of the 2/3rd Commandos, my eyes fixed on a simple, handwritten inscription in the top right corner of the map ... "2/3rd Comm camp". Confirming with Bill that I was looking at the place where the unit would have been "encamped", excitement rose in both Sue and I and grew as we ascertained from Bill where this location was.

Just ten minuted later, we were standing at the end of Mapee Rd, where it now extends across the main irrigation channel bringing water from the Barron River westward and becomes another road. In 1944, the irrigation channel didn't exist and the raised knoll, perhaps 100 metres long and 20 metres wide was where Mapee Rd ended and the tents of the 2/3rd Commandos stood. Running past the camp to the east and north was Dinner Creek, referred to in one of the unit books I have read. We wandered through the area, hopeful of finding some artifact, some treasure to confirm the already irrefutable evidence. After 45 minutes it looked as though such cream on top would not be possible until I almost fell upon eight sawn tree trucks, all about eight feet long and four inches in diameter - the rough dimensions of tent props cut from the environment to hold up the A frame simple tents of the day. They had been push piled to one end of the area and they were all old, old wood. On one, I found initials carved now only shallowly, but unmistakable. I stood a while, looked about me and wiped my eyes, obviously made misty from the strain of the visual search.

DC3 or C47 troup carrier

What this means for Sue's family is for them to decide and that includes Sue. I can't presume to speak for them but for me, this was a powerful moment, eight years after I started searching for information to help Sue. It has more significance than that though. This search for information about John was the first task of substance I attempted after believing I had so little left to offer that suicide was the only answer left. Wanting to help, then wanting to meet a dead man, became obsessions and ultimately, life ropes. To stand for a second time in the one day in his space, even though a different time, was a very powerful connection to make. Today, I feel I finally met my father in law.

We returned via Mareeba Airport and happened upon a DC-3 or as the Yanks called them, a C-47, painted in the livery of the USAF. Its part of the collection of Warbird Adventures. This was an opportune time to retell Sue the story of her Dad's unit and their leading of the attack on Wau Airport, in New Guinea, at that time held and fortified by the Japanese. The unit flew in on American DC-3's, who made a touch and go landing and takeoff, with the men of the 2/3rd jumping from the cargo door travelling at 30-40 miles an hour with guns blazing to return the fire of the Japanese who held the airfield. Thinking this old gal was a mock up, I eventually came back to camp and before writing my blog, researched and found the old girl on the internet. This one served in the Phillipines as one of the famous Jungle Skipper squadron which flew at the tree tops delivering troops and cargo.

The rest of the day was anti-climax, although I got to kiss a cassowary and Sue nearly threw up from

TODAY'S PHOTOS

the smell of dairy cows, or more correctly, their excrement. It seems the dairy farmer's daughter has moved on!

A Little Less North to Atherton

A dream pack up this morning considering we had the added task of removing the walls from around the kitchen area of the camper trailer. We rarely erect them but faced with mosquitoes as big as fruit bats - a local colloquialism - it seemed a prudent precaution and with the rain we had on the first day and night at Daintree, it also gave us an extra space to remain dry in. The area is enclosed around the three open sides of the canopy which is attacked to the back wall of the camper, over the main access door. It's Achilles Heal is the area under the back swing door of the trailer itself which appears to have been designed to take a skirt of canvas to attach of Velcro. We counter this with a mozzie zapper which is placed above the opening and very effectively removes incoming insect pests.

It doesn't however prevent larger visitors and last night, as we drank our post dinner cup of tea, the noise which Sue heard under the table was an inquisitive Northern Long Nosed Bandicoot called Simon, well known in these part and a fairly regular visitor to campsites. It would be a lie to say we weren't startled but we soon recovered and just stood and watched Simon literally nose about to see if we had discarded any offcuts to the ground. He wasn't in anyway perturbed by our presence in his oversized larder and moved about, sniffing boots as much as anything else and then waddled back the way he had come, not to be seen again.

Mossman Gorge

After taking on petrol and rewarding ourselves with a cup of coffee at Mossman, we drove the short distance to Mossman Gorge, which became even shorter because the Qld National Parks are installing new elevated walkways to reduce the impact on the park the large annual foot traffic is having. This has reduced parking to nil at the entrance to the park, so parking areas have been set up up a few kilometres from the park entrance and a free shuttle bus runs every 15 mins to transport visitors. We arrived fairly early, so the carpark boasted barely six or seven cars. An hour later, all three carparks were full ... upwards of 200 cars by my count.

The onslaught is aided and abetted by tours which arrive in their Croc Dundee livery and of course, are allowed to park right at the entrance. As a result, our hour walking in the gorge was marred somewhat by a constant stream of singletted blokes in shorts and thongs, women in skimpy fashions down to bikini tops and shorts which must have been applied by skin graft and kids. Actually, most of the kids were pretty cool because they were asking questions, often really good questions and credit to most of their parents, they were having a good crack at providing good answers.

About 40% of those present just wanting to breeze in, do the circuit and then hop back on the bus: tramping along, seeing little but a background of green and the water cascading down the Mossman River. I wonder what the traditional owners think, the Kuku Yalanji, as they man the gates of the park, waving politely to every blurred minibus that flashes by. Their own community precedes the park, a place where they live and work, including a group of artists who stock a fine little gallery and another who run interpretive tours in Mossman Gorge, the southern most extent of the The Daintree. Very few visitors today were asking to be dropped of at the community's attractions.

When we entered the park, we held back and allowed a group of about twenty to go on ahead of us, unaware that this was a fruitless gesture. When we finally wandered in, we met two of the traditional owners in their park uniforms. We said our usual cheery hello and I think I said something about thank you. I'm not sure whether it was our walking boots and general attire or whether it was my camera attached to my big telephoto lens but they stopped, conferred with each other in their language and when both had agreed, one told us of the location of a Boyd's Forest Dragon on a tree not far ahead of us. It was our distinct impression this was a privilege.

We found the creature and took some pictures and when others stormed on past, we thought it might be best to keep our knowledge to ourselves.

The views of the river were spectacular as it was flowing vigorously after weeks of rain. The town water for Mossman and Cairns is taken from a lake above this point and has, amazingly, never been in short supply. In the end, the freeway of people zooming up and back as we tried to watch little birdies and forest critters got too much for me and I was happy to leave. I was also cheesed off, as this was a bushwalk we had planned since before leaving Tamworth and the main reason I had worked so hard with exercises to get my knee in working order after I injured myself at the start of the tour in the reunion game in Armidale. Before we started the walk I had a near collision with one of the Flash Jack tour operators as I was entering the toilets, twisting the same knee and putting myself back three weeks. It's swollen tonight.

We returned to the carpark to find a dopey bugger had boxed me in in their effort to make sure they got the car parking space they wanted. I had to cut and fill, backwards and forward with the trailer on, to extricate myself. I left him/her an explanatory note as to the inconvenience they had caused.

Mereeba Wetlands

Soon enough we were heading up the mountain range behind Mossman on our way to the Atherton Tableland. We stopped a couple of times - at a lookout and then at a fruit stall - before having lunch at a free camping area near Mount Molloy, where we listened to Pat Drummond and ate the newly acquired fruit whilst watching a group of blokes trying to put a prime mover onto a low loader.

In the afternoon, our major stop was at the Mareeba Wetlands, a privately run facility which is like an oversized bird hide. This was a real treat and it included a pot of the local Nerada tea. The birdies were beautiful and the company was very pleasant. The place has rather expensive lodges (no camping) and tours at different times of the day to observe birds on the wetland. Entry to the visitors centre and bird watching from their is free.

TODAY'S PHOTOS

Our final push was on to Atherton, where we shopped and picked up some medical supplies. I was able to make contact with a local military historian who may have some information to share on John Gibbens time spent of the Atherton Tableland during 1944/45 training with his unit, the 2/3 Commandos.

A Further Day At The Daintree

Alexander Lookout

A slow, slow start to a day for the first time in a couple of weeks so we could dry some clothes and shoes and other items (like camera bags) after yesterdays solid wall of water. This allowed me to catch up with my blogs which had slipped a day behind. The discipline of daily writing has been good for me, especially as I have spent ten years as a "sometime soon man". The value for me comes from my love of the craft so that it never becomes a chore, its just that sometimes other things prevent me getting to the job before a time at night when I'd rather be sleeping and with all this free air and exercise, that's usually by 8:30pm.

We crossed the river into the Daintree just after midday and in vastly different weather conditions that twenty four hours earlier. The rain was gone and sunshine was now threatening and by the time we reached our first stop, Cape Kimberley, the rainforest and mangroves had an entirely different look and feel. Without the rain, the leaves and bark of trees loose their lustre and a lot of its colour and there is no more nodding of leaves or smacking of fat drops on whatever lies below. Yet if I was a new chum who had not seen yesterday's display, I would surely still be impressed. Its the nature of this part of the country to impress. We returned to the bends and turns and this time detoured to Alexander Lookout which gives a sweeping view of the mouth of the Daintree River. This stop was packed with visitors but with patience, some reasonable shots were obtained. Running about our feet were some feral chickens who were turning the soil in search of treats.

The Rainforest Discovery Centre turned out to be our last visit of the day. Set up to allow visitors to experience the three tiers of the rainforest environment through elevated walkways and a large tower, it is successful in showing its guests all the information they need to understand about a rainforest environment in general and the Daintree rainforest in particular. Stops along the way are numbered relational to an excellent information book which is part of the entry price and also to a audio program worn on lanyards around your neck and available in a variety of different languages, in much the same way that art galleries have been doing for many years. There is even a point where spoken information can be played by the listener turning a handle to generate the energy for the recording to play.

At the halfway point of these walks, an interpretive centre hosts video, audio, pictorial and written information about the flora and fauna of the rainforest, including a press button pad which plays the calls of birds you will find in the Daintree. At first I thought, the entry seemed over priced but in consideration of the innovative and different paths to learning they have provided, I think they have it about right. The highlight for me was standing in the five storey high tower which brings you out in the canopy of the tall trees, where I spotted Pied Imperial Pigeons, Metallic Starlings and and a Yellow Spotted Honeyeater. I would suggest that an opportunity which could be taken is to have a "birdo" stationed here, pointing out the birds currently to be seen and providing binoculars to help the punters see them. If you had never been in a rainforest, you would have left with the taste of a lovely entree leaving you wanting more of the main course. Parts of this are wheel chair friendly, another plus.

It was beer o'clock, so we headed back to camp but before sitting down for the day, we wandered down to the river for one last lingering look. In the late afternoon sunshine, with the green hills and mountains as a backdrop, it was as perfect a scene as anyone would to imagine, let alone see.

This was the focus of our five week trip and as such, it hasn't disappointed us one bit. Quite the reverse. Thanks to a beauty which soaks through the pores and fills every one of the five senses, we will leave tomorrow on a high. Thanks also to the passion and commitment of Mick Casey, who has made the task of converting others through his knowledge and his love of this place so much easier by the way he leads you to drink it up and then revels as you do. Our lives have been changed by this experience and he has been central to it.

TODAY'S PHOTOS

As a poet, I am inspired and ideas, currently bouncing about doing the neuron dance, are being committed to note books and anything I can write on and then stashed into safe places until I can unfold them and light a fire in the sterility of the four sensible and safe walls of my office at home. In time, I fancy creepers will run there, oblivious to those who can't see them.

A Little Further North to Cape Tribulation

Crossing the Daintree River

After yesterday, we will start heading a little less further north, as our journey took as across the Daintree River and through a winding, narrow road to Cape Tribulation. This is the journey we would have made a few days ago, with trailer attached but for our concern about rain and crocodiles. It was pouring again and several of the creek crossings were well over the road, alleviating possible shame that we are getting soft. In truth, sensible would be a fairer description.

The crossing of the Daintree is achieved via a large and very powerful car ferry, under-worked during our passage but scooting us across the wide river in less than three minutes and from the start of the thirty odd kms of blacktop to Cape Tribulation, you become aware that this is not designed to be a fast trip as one tight hairpin bend follows another and where ever straights are more than fifty metres long, large suspension wrecking speed bumps topped with fist size rocks embedded in the concrete layer on top, are placed to avoid the need for fourth gear.

A sign at the start even implored visitors to slow down and soak it it up.

Then of course, there are the two metre high cassowaries who wander across the road with the highest level of pedestrian right of way. We sighted one male, with his 30cm high chick following, about 200m ahead of us but he was gone before we could make them into a photo.

Lunch was at a cafe/bar at Thornton Beach. We ate our toasted focaccia looking into a mix of rainforest and mangrove which had the beach as its backdrop.

When we finally reached Cape Tribulation, the rain had eased a tad and we walked the short boardwalk to the lookout. It was wet, the view was restricted but we both had a wonderful sense of achievement at the more than 3000kms we had travelled in the past three weeks and the things we had seen. Along the boardwalk was a beautiful lagoon, coloured brown from the surrounding trees sending sonar rings across to meet with others as large drops fell from nodding leaves. Here was that sudden interface between forest and sea ... forest, mangrove and sea to be precise.

We moved on reluctantly but visited Noah Beach campsite, which would have been our destination and vindication was all over our faces. It was sodden, pools of water were just joining forces and campsites were gradually becoming submarines and all the time the rain kept bucketing down. There was only one group in the camping grounds and they were huddled under a medium sized tarp which had been gerry rigged using trees, guy ropes and no poles and the rain was gradually boxing them into an ever decreasing space at the centre. We got back into our dry vehicle and drove off. The trip back to Daintree Village was just as good and we realised that had it been dry, we would never have seen this beautiful place at its best.

By mid afternoon, we had arrived at the Daintree River Cruise headquarters, their sign a distinctive painting of two egrets but whose significance we would not understand until very late in the day. We had booked a three hour bird and nature lovers cruise which would take us to sunset, although under the weather conditions, we didn't expect to see it. Our guide, Mick, arrived barefooted and in khaki with a severe haircut and cheeky smile and asked us what we wanted to see. My reply, "what ever you think we should see" lit up his face and he replied, "I think this is going to work out just fine, eh".

It did.

For the next three hours, we probably only travelled 3km and half of that in the last half hour but what a fantastic experience. Hailing originally from Albany in WA, Mick came to Cairns in the late eighties to work on landscaping the foreshore in Cairns after high tides had wiped it out and soon found his way to Daintree. He started work as a carpenter doing infrastructure work for the Rainforest Centre and just seemed to fall into boat driving and guiding. However it happened, his knowledge is immense and he was recognising birds by call and then maneuvering the boat with expertise so we could see and photograph them. Mick interpreted what we were seeing, guiding us so that we might also have his zeal and love for the Daintree. We were also given a thorough explanation of the mangroves and how their systems work and we would have been happy with that, especially as the rain was rallying again and driving into any space it had not previously wet under the boat's canopy.

However, we huddled under towels as the light faded, assured by Mick that this final part of the trip was worth the trouble. Rounding a big bend in the river, we both we confronted with one of those truly amazing sights one will always remember. A section of about 100m of trees along the river bank were gradually turning from being green, to polka dotted in white. Cattle Egrets were flying in large groups - perhaps 30 to 70 in each group - and finding a roost. As we watched, flock after flock came winging down the river and settled on their own wooded space. In the highest spots, Grand Egrets their necks with the extra kink, held court above the others. We sat for twenty minutes, rain still continuing its dominant role in the rainforest scheme of things and still the egrets kept coming.

We have had one or two of these humbling experiences in the wild and they are not subject for comparison but sit beside each other as a collection of moments which leave us in awe both in the experiencing and in the remembering. We might have hoped to see these thousands of white birds soaring in and landing with such lightness that even small branches seemed not to bother in some imagined wonder that the Daintree might have offered but to have hope superseded by reality was beyond breathtaking. In just a short time here, we have seen how there are many that want to give tourists a thrill - the big crocs are the main attraction - but we wanted something different. In Mick, we found someone who wanted us to understand the Daintree, not just ooh and aah our way through an hour on the water. Thank goodness there a few real operators left.

TODAY'S PHOTOS

To cap this day, we dried off back at camp and wandered across the road to the general store/restaurant/grog shop and entertainment centre and joined others for mackerel and chips - the one dish on the menu - and a bottle of red and some vary reasonable live music. After dinner, Sue managed to talk our ten co-diners into dancing and the owner even smiled ... something out of the ordinary for him as he seemed to use a scowl as a greeting.

What a remarkable day!

A Little Further North to Daintree

Ellis Beach

This was a day!

The anticipated wet pack up didn't disappoint as the tent was wet inside and out but such is life and only the smallest of even breaks during the day (sunshine) and time for airing when we arrived, would get us back in the game.

We were away by 9:30am and back into Kuranda for a last mocha and some planning of the next few days. Staying in Daintree NP had been ruled out through a combination of my concern about crocs - we were to camp behind a beach - and Sue's concern about the extra rain which had been falling in previous weeks making the chances of being trapped behind the lines likely. We therefore opted for an in between option and made a booking for a caravan park in the village of Daintree and would use it as a base for operations.

Our route took us back down the escarpment and we stopped to take in those wonderful views about halfway down - views we had seen through cloud the previous day on both the Scenic Railway and the Skyrail. We skirted through northern Cairns and detoured into Trinity Beach, a haven for the wealthy and beautiful. We didn't see many of them but I did hang around for a while and watch one large couple swimming in bright coloured swim suits in the hope that my shots of a croc attack would make the Channel 7 News. Those big saltwater eating machines regularly cruise along the beaches here.

After a tricky manoeuvre to turn the trailer, we returned to the Captain Cook Highway.

Rex Lookout

I have travelled all of the truly great ocean drives Australia has to offer and I'm happy to declare the Captain Cook Highway the clear winner for it's stunning views and a carriageway which demands drivers keep to the 80kms speed limit. Every headland was rounded with anticipation of the visual treats which lay in store and not once were we disappointed. Two outstanding examples of what was on offer - but by no means the only or best examples - were Ellis Beach and Rex Lookout.

At Ellis Beach, Jeannie Baker's "Where The Forest Meets The Sea" finds its source material. Rainforest trees ignore the road and grow to the very edge of the back grains of the loose and soft sand which is as good in its parts as the whole. The beach curves with a seduction far more than any of the scantily clad creatures which walk or lounge upon it. It bends from the southern point until running in a long parallel to the incoming waves which lap their rhythm with such soothing cadence as to numb even the most preoccupied soul from any busy life. Coconuts trees and palms grow among rainforest species and shade is offered sometimes halfway to the water's edge.

Whilst I took photos, I lost Sue who rambled off on a long beachcombers stroll which included finding some mangoes waiting for her in the shade of a palm. Ten metres from civilisation to paradise, with greater transformative powers than any hypnotist.

At Rex Lookout, high on a bluff between beaches, the view was staggering. Islands, yellow beaches, dense rainforests, white cotton balls decorating the blue sky ... if it wasn't for the loud, boring carload of male German tourists, it would have been perfect but one learns to be patient and see them off your turf and gratefully accept young couples posing for photographs their children will ask about in twenty years ... "no, that was before I met daddy ..."

Daintree River

Among the more special was an unmarked turn off and one I had to stop quickly and then reverse car and trailer twenty metres to gain us access. It was a small camping and day use area - maybe four sites maximum - tacked in behind the beach among both rainforest and beach vegetation.

Wangetti was a meeting place for three Aboriginal groups ... a meeting place where differences where put aside and commonality sought. They would gather to eat and talk and secure peace between them. The big paperbacks right on the beach were marvelous but so is the knowledge that these three people groups have combined their efforts to establish this place for others to visit and they have installed picnic tables and shelters and interpretive boards.

We finally made it to Daintree just after three in the afternoon. It had been a superb drive. It took a while to establish our campsite as the walls needed to be erected around the outside canopy in the event of rain, as their was no camp kitchen here. The humidity and the late afternoon heat (28c) had the sweat poring from us, literally. However, the tent got two hours of sunshine and airing and was bone dry come nightfall. Its a plain park but the owners are very well meaning and friendly.

Before it was dark, we ventured down to have our first look at the Daintree River and I don't think even I can find the words. Everywhere is green and hills and then mountains just finish a perfect picture. We also sighted our first croc, causing Sue to climb up onto the picnic table we had been sitting at. It cruised past on the opposite side of the river, probably 100m away but Sue saw no reason to be a risk taker. Boat drivers who were taking care of the loose threads of their day thought it was likely to be a four metre specimen. They also commented that the crocs are feisty at the moment as it is breeding season and the extra rain in winter has probably upset their yearly cycle.

TODAY'S PHOTOS

We returned to the tent for blogs, dinner, plans and sleep.