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Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Northern Territory News-From Bags to Riches
Category: Blogging

Northern Territory News-From Bags to Riches

We make front page news!!!!

THEY started out penniless, barefoot and wearing garbage bags. Four months later, Gareth Owen, Anne Race and Phil Carr have travelled more than 10,000km and raised $9000 for charity. To Northern Territory NewsTheir mission was simple: to travel around Australia with no money and working random jobs, donating every dollar to Book Aid International.

"It's a bit of a risk, but we have a lot of faith in people," Mr Owen said.

"We're trying to see if people have a good heart."

The journey began on September 21 in Brisbane, after the trio had given away their possessions and walked the streets naked - wearing only garbage bags.

"This guy walked up to us, took off his shoes and gave them to Phil. Then he just walked off," Mr Owen said.

"Anne was sorted and clothed within hours. All the guys wanted to help her out."

The UK trio has relied on strangers for food, shelter and petrol as they complete their mission.

"We've found people look at us and say, 'you're an idiot. Here's $5'," Mr Owen said.

"A lot of the time, you're only a request away from getting out of trouble.

"When people say yes, it is absolutely amazing".

The trio arrived in Darwin last week and are still trying to find people who are willing to make work for them.

Since September, they have found 124 jobs, ranging from collecting alpaca droppings to disposing of cane toads and sorting through underwear at St Vincent de Paul.

Their journey's history and contact details can be found on their website www.ascheekyasyoucant.blogspot.com. Read a cheeky bit more!

10:13 AM

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Monday, January 12, 2009

Little Crystal Creek vs Big Crystal Creek

Phil sits under a crystal clear water fall at Little Crystal Creek
Both Little and Big Crystal Creeks were wonderful. Little Crystal creek's waterfalls brought very cool and refreshing water to the many carved out pools cascading downsrream. We swam with eels and shimps arounds us, showering under the falls.

We find a turtle at Big Crystal Creek Paradise Waterhole!

Gareth joins Phill under the waterfall

Big Crystal Creek
The water here was so warm and still. Sharing the naturally enclosed pool with fish, tadpoles and turtles we jumped off the rocks into the gentle waters and spent an afternoon floating, looking up at the clouds.

Local Children show Gareth how to water bomb

Townsville, No room in the inn, no food and no luck but the IGA come to the rescue

After spending about a week slowly making our way through the many gorgeous waterfalls and lush beauty spots between Deeral and Townsville we finally made it back to civilisation. So far the trip has been going particularly well but I guess we could call this day our day of frustration, knock backs and general unhappiness. With little to no food in our bellies we tried to find somewhere where we could pitch our tent. Trying all the camping and caravan sights, asking if we could pitch our tent there for a night so we can get some rest before we started work the following day. We were greeted with "no room", "not interested", "The boss isn't here", "there ain't no work for you here", or "we support our own charities". All valid and fair enough replies to our pleas but non the less very disheartening. We asked if there was anywhere they knew of where we could park the van up and sleep in for the night without getting moved on and the answer was always "no". the cherry on the top was when we were just on our way to ask another camping sight out of town if they could help us out and the cheeky van started put putting, coming to a full stop as the last few drops of petrol evaporated. We were hungry, hot, sticky, dirty, had nowhere to lay our heads and the winds were picking up. After draining what little dregs we could find in the jerry cans we manged to get the van to the shore front and parked in a public car park hoping upon hope that the police wouldn't move us on.

We eat! Yippee!

Finding a few twigs and sticks we made a fire in one of the free BBQs and fought the wind to heat up enough water to muster some condensed soup. The ashes from the fire filmed the soup with charred flakes but we were too hungry to care.
Not everyday is as fun on this journey as we would like it to be. Some days we don't have any luck at all, and with people who either don't believe we are genuine or simply don't care we sometimes struggle to maintain a positive outlook.
Sleep that evening was difficult and we found it hard to keep our chins up for the first time.

Funny how a little sun can change your mood. The grey cold facade of the day before seemed to have disappeared and we went to see John MacDonald from the IGA, who we had been in touch with through our friend 'Crazy' John Maclean from Bowen. The IGA are the Independent Grocers of Australia, a franchise chain of stores throughout Oz, owned and run in each place by different people. This allows local people to take over a store, or in the case of the Townsville stores, a few, owned as they are by the Walters Group, local businessmen. The IGA, being independently owned source their produce locally, all their meat and dairy and contribute to the community donating groceries and money to local charities. With open arms we received a warm and tremendously pleasing welcome at the Independent Grocers. John MacDonald, a local hero who supports many charities gave us a real hearty hello over a cup of tea and biscuits. Biscuits of which we were ever so grateful for, scraping up every crumb which fell on the table, not wanting to waste a single dot of crunchy tasty goodness. Talking to John then, we found him an engaging, softly spoken man. He told us of his love of music, particularly Elvis, of his wish to record some songs he had written, and of his plan for retirement, the Dumb Dog Tree Factory. This plan he thought up one day while driving through Central Queensland and, seeing there trees felled during a storm, came upon the idea of using the trunks.

“Again it was obvious really. I took one home, and started to make some chess pieces and a chess board from the trunk, then thought why not make a grandfather clock, or carve animals. I’d get a few old fellers like myself together, a carpenter and retired tradesmen, and we’d knock these things together, and all we’d need was the wood, some time and a little practice. And I’ve lots of wood, believe me”

John arranged for us to do some work with a charity called Camp Quality,

Camp Quality is a non profit organisation that is committed to bringing hope and happiness to every child living with cancer, their families and communities through ongoing quality recreational, educational, hospital and financial support programs. In return for this work we would be given a budget to do a supermarket sweep and some petrol, a fantastic deal when we were in dire need to get some supplies to keep our morals up.

Arriving at the office we were greeted and welcomed by Mark McGregor, the affable Area Manager for North Queensland and Nikki, his administrator, who between them both run the office. They showed us some pictures and told us exactly what they did.

At heart, Mark told us, they operate to bring some hope and happiness to every child living with cancer, and their families. “It’s tough living with cancer, it’s harsh and an ordeal, for the kids as well as for their family, and it’s pretty amazing to be able to offer them a ‘week off’, and to see them relax and start laughing and enjoying themselves when they come to our Camps”.

Based all over Oz Camp Quality conducts hundreds of camps and activities each year, all entirely funded by themselves, at no cost to the families. For kids aged 4 to 18, who are all assigned a mentor, for the duration of the camp and afterwards too, they offer anything from horse riding and archery, to a weekend in the snow or a fishing trip, maybe putt putt golf or a trip to the zoo. Their North Queensland branch, Mark was telling us, have 4 major camps each year, all at least one week long, as well as other events and activities, like going to see a movie, playing basketball, seeing a football game, or going for dinner or a picnic, with Mothers and Fathers Day and Christmas parties to organise too. They also offer financial support, with welfare payments to families struggling with bills or funeral expenses.

We were blown away by the kid's capacity to laugh and enjoy themselves despite their trauma, their bravity and their support for each other. It is a simple thing to laugh and have fun, even simpler for kids, and the time away from the routine of the hospital and the sickbed was an invigorating time for everyone, Mark added.

We were more than happy to get stuck into some work and bid Mark point the way. He showed us the lawnmower, the beds that needed weeding, and the flowers that then needed planting. There were palm leaves to pick up and the yard to sweep. He left us to it and we busied ourselves and worked away. I cut the grass, Phil and Anne weeded and soon, the beds were cleared and the lawn mowed.

The flowers then planted, everything was spruced, cleared and ship shape, ready for inspection. Mark came back, we offered our services if he had any more jobs. He thanked us and told us that was that, and to come up for a drink and to sign their notice board. We chatted some more then and Mark told us more about Camp Quality, particularly the educational program offered to the kids who have missed school due to their illness, with tuition in numeracy and literacy.

It is a wonderful organisation and we were more than happy to do a few odd jobs for them such as weeding and mowing.

Camp Quality staff members Mark and NikkiBack in Johns office we looked around the walls to see the many newspaper articles of him holding cheques for large sums written out to various worthy causes. Among them was plaquard dedicated to John, from the Leukaemia Foundation, thanking him for the $100 000 he’d managed to raise through auctioning off the Queensland State of Origin Team shirts, signed by the players. “What I like about that cheque, more than the amount even, is the fact that everyone told me I’d never get the shirts. I got them, no worries. It’s a such an obvious idea, and one guy paid $25 000 for one. That’s pretty amazing, really”, he told us afterwards.The IGA, it seems, really are what they say they are, a community store. they certainly pump a lot of profits back into the community and the community spirit can be felt amongst the staff, everyone knows each others names and we were always greeted with a friendly welcome. It certainly beats some of the larger supermarket chains.
DSC_4485 src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3220/3075341693_be9dbb758c.jpg" width=500>
We carefully pick out the most economical food items we could for $100 and the IGA shouts us the bill!
Mmmmm... Food!

After hearing about our difficulties finding accommodation the previous day Janine, another member of the IGA staff instantly offered us a place to rest our heads that evening. After doing various chores that day we turned up to their pleasant home to be greeted with the sumptuous aromas of Darrens delicious curry. Yummm. Thank you so much for inviting us to your home and giving us a welcome which completely changed our opinions about the people of Townsville after our unfortunate first day.

Anne with Ethan and Janine

Phil, Gareth, Janine & Darren Stauton with their son Ethan

The Optus shop donates phone credit

The Vodafone shop also give us phone credit

The next day we were woken up with fresh mango smoothies prepared by the wonderful Ethan, and then a phone call from the local extroverted radio show presenter who introduced himself as wacky, exclaiming we were nearly as wacky as he.

Back in the IGA office we said our goodbyes to John. On asking him why he has been so willing to go out of his way to help us out he stated that he likes to support a good cause and enjoys people who think outside the nine dots. It was with this sense of having fun with life and seeking new adventures and exciting projects that saw John enter into the spirit of our trip.

It is an honour to be acquainted with such folk and it reaffirms our faith in the world.

12:00 AM

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Thursday, January 08, 2009

Tully-A Pretty Wet Place
Category: Blogging

Tully-A Pretty Wet Place

Towns and cities often give themselves a descriptive moniker, for example Chicago-The windy City or New York-The Big Apple. I have to say, tully's is probably the least impresive, yet funny, name that i have ever come across: Tully-A Pretty Wet Place.
With a huge golden gumboot in the centre of town, a contriversal ploy to horde tourists into town you can see by the height of the boot just how much rainfall Tully received in the year 1950, 7.9m!
With an average drenching of 440 cm a year (14 feet) we were pretty surprised to have to seek the shade of trees to hide from the glaring sun as we passed through to collect fuel donations so we could get to Townsville.

There are a number of farms in this area including bananas and sugarcane.

A suger cane factory

The trains pulling a never ending number of carts filled with cane can be seen around town on the rail lines which zig zag across the roads.

A Cane Filled Train

Fuel is donated to us in Tully
Our brief stop in the wettest place in Australia was extremely dry.

10:03 AM

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Thursday, January 08, 2009

Eval Kineval and the Migrant Turkeys

Like a Migrant Turkey Anne flew through the air…

Anne's latest injury

Michael Davies runs a Palmetum nursery, he told us to get settled in whilst he went to town for the beers in the morning. In the meantime, he said we should "go for a swim at the Paradise Waterhole" and "make yourselves at home". After coming back from the Creek, Michal had organised our camp for us, which we were sharing with the two German guys Lander and Simon. We were to start work the next morning, working around the nursery, picking up palm leaves.

Working in the golden palms

When morning came we had breakfast then Michael picked us up in his Electric Stretch Golf Buggy-cum-runaround, to take us to where we would be working that day. Promises of cold beer at the end of the day propelled our enthusiasm for the task ahead, which was to take the dead leaves from a dense row of potted palms. These were packed in two rows about 100m long, ten palms wide, and were ready to be carted off to Mount Isa, but beforehand needed to be tidied and rid of the dead leaves. We pushed ourselves into the thick of it and started to pick and prune.

We swiftly got into a rhythm, of pick and put, pick and put, trimming the dead leaves off, pushing them through the gaps to the side, moving along slowly but surely. We had the leaves trimmed before the morning smoko and afterwards cleared the dead, discarded leaves from between the rows, piling them up in stacks nearby for burning. It was during one of these forays into the undergrowth of the palm rows, raking, pulling and piling,that Phil noticed something winking at him as I bent over to pick up an armful of leaves – a pristine porcelain white buttcheek gleamed in the midday sun, my bald Albino stepchild blinking at the first light of day. He’d torn through the covering of my shorts again, and Phil found him endearing and so pointed and laughed, Anne insisted on taking pictures, and I tried to hide his fleshy white face from the scorn of the world and get on with finishing the work.

Gareth splits his only other shorts

An aggressive buttcheek apart, the rest of the day was spent in a flurry of picking up and putting down (somewhere else), the job that we three have become so accomplished at. The things we’ve picked up (here) and put down (over there, in a pile) during our time on the road covers much.

From horse manure, to rocks, alpaca poo, mulch, to sand and gravel, from leaves to tree branches to general household rubbish, if you’ve left it there, we’ve moved it. It’s not for everyone, this picking up and putting down, but if you have anything you want moving, give us a call.

Gareth, happy in his work like a pig in muck
Even with a ventilated arse, it was hot work in the sun, and we were dripping with sweat, but those beers were at the back of the forefront of our minds as we worked until we had put all there was to pick. Michael had left a carton of beer for us when we’d finished, back at the camp, and we sat, lathered in sweat, on the concrete platform in front of our van, and enjoyed the invigorating experience of a cold beer after a days work.

It rained all that evening, continuing most of the next day, but as we’d agreed to work over the weekend now, to take care of some fuel, we were in amongst it again, picking up and putting down the leaves from the larger trees on the property, piling them and getting soaked from the rain and slathered in mud. It was so much fun to be soaking wet, covered in mud and yet, because of the humidity, sweating due to the heat.

After another swim at the Paradise Waterhole to wash away the palm frond mess we heard the din of activity from under the roof of the giant porch by Michael’s homestead and went over to investigate, knowing that Michael was away for the weekend. It was Michael’s brother, Colin, his daughter Jody, her girlfriend Jenny, their friends CJ and Charma, her girlfriend Kat, and Brad, a friend of Jodie’s and Jack and Jye, two boys, along with Michael’s son, Jerred, and they sat around a plastic picnic table laden with empty and half drunk bottles, smokes and more beers coming as soon as they saw us. What could we do but sit and join them. And get drunk with them. Ridiculously, raucously, loudly, steaming drunk.

Jerred teaches us to shoot

They told us stories, the repeating of which would require your ears be kept in quarantine for six months afterwards. We were repeatedly warned of the Midnight Mission, an activity they have to engage in every Saturday night, an adventure, a drunken spree, but we weren’t worried – because we were so pissed we’d have agreed to anything. “Want to climb on the back of an orang-utang and go waterskiing through the cane fields?” Sure. “Hey, we’re going to go toad sniffing, want to come?” Of bloody course. So when they announced that we were driving to the beach, all of us in the back of the 4x4 Ute we weren’t even phased, just worried where the beer would fit, and who would have to be sacrificed for it.

He then bangs his head on the fridge door, eager to get to the food
As the sober one, Colin drove us there, along the highway for a kilometre and then what seemed like eighty along a narrow, dirt road, so pockmarked with holes it made Bryan Adams’ face seem smooth as a baby’s behind, and so uneven it made Elton John seem straight, and with deep pools of water to traverse, and eight people crammed into the back tray, it was with screams and hoots, and not a little relief that we made it to the beach, where we were greeted by a quadbike offering rides up and down the sand.
Now it was dark, very dark, only the light of the quadbike, and headlights of the 4x4 and the dim illumination of the moon cast any light on the place, but as Anne took her turn on the quad, Phil and I stripped off and went for a swim. When I say went for a swim, what I mean is that we stripped off, then trod precariously, daintily even, like pregnant baboons, over the sharp rocks, intermittent stones, shells and other protuberances unseen to the drunken eye, but lying between us and the water, staggering there like dying men, our feet torn, our reasoning clouded, where we fell, wounded, and floated about a bit, before being called back to the 4x4. We ooh’d and aah’d back over the trepidatious terrain, like courageous buffoons, and made it to the van, buoyant by the sheer scale of our bravery, when someone pointed, just there, out to the left a bit, and said, ‘look, idiots, why didn’t you just walk across the sand, there’. Could we have answered her even if we had the power of speech?

Michael let's us try his home brew

We are given the royal tour around the nursery grounds

A tamarind. Michael was told by Jerrard's school not to give the kids this treat any longer as it makes them fart too much Michael

Waking up next morning pretty rotten and feeling very much as though a host of pigs had defecated in our heads, we were nonetheless offered a spin on Charma’s trail bike, a 125 Kawazaki, and before our brains reacted, said yes, ok then, why not. Phil went first, and all was good, he carefully eased the throttle and took off. Anne was next and in tribute to Evel Kineval decided, in her own mind, right before she even asked ‘how do you actually ride this thing’ to hit the throttle hard, to take advantage of the stunt-like bike lessons she never quite got round to and to take off like a cannonball, only to turn swiftly into a migrant turkey, realising it’s ability to fly is long departed, before collapsing in a heap a few metres from her attempted standing-start loop-the-loop. Laying there in a crumpled heap all fears of continuing the remainder of the trip feeding a paraplegic through a catheter tube were allayed as she laughed through a grimace, and had her badly scratched back seen to once it was ascertained that was her only injury.

The bike Anne very nearly destroyed

Anne's wheely skid mark
We said goodbye to the crew then, and when Michael arrived later that day we had a quiet drink with him and set off early the next morning, with a donation to Book Aid, sore heads, wounded feet and a scabby back. Whoever said that alcohol was the cause of solution to life’s problems knew what he was on about. Next stop Townsville.

Charma

12:00 AM

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Tuesday, January 06, 2009

Did We Forget You? Never! Not on your Nelly, Sunshine
Category: Blogging

Did We Forget You? Never! Not on your Nelly, Sunshine

The Thank You List has been updated. If you helped out and want to see your name in type, then this is the place to go and have a butchers. It's a small tribute to some large hearted individuals. This is really the least we could do for you all. Magic. Read a cheeky bit more!

8:29 PM

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Tuesday, January 06, 2009

Deeral
Category: Blogging

Deeral

The torture boarding gang with Rick and YvetteThe sanding gang, Gareth, Rick, Yvette and Phil Deeral is a small town just south of Cairns on the banks of the mulgrave river,we were heading up this way to meet Rick Terkelson who had offered us some work on a boat he was building. We met Rick through Kerry who we had met through Carol Curtis.

On our way up up to Deeral from Ingham we ran out of fuel and had to canvas all the local businesses in Tully for any help they could give us with fuel. We managed to get $20 worth of fuel donated and Mobil Tully donated a further $10, this was enough to get us to Deeral and after a quick swim at the boulders in Babinda we arrived in Deeral just in time for tea.

We were to wait a few days for a friend of Rick’s called Michael to arrive so after Rick had filled up our tank we headed to Walkamin for another job wwoofing. Our job with Rick would be to sand down the resin that Michael would be applying to the fibreglass hull. This process is known as torture boarding and it would soon become apparent to us why. A torture board is a long piece of plywood with handles on the back and sandpaper on the front.

The board can be custom made to different lengths depending on the requirements of the job. We had a couple of smaller boards that could be operated solo and a longer 8ft board that needed two people. This longer board gives a more uniform finish and helps detect any imperfections or depressions in the finish. The moving of the different torture boards back and forth and round and round became a major part of our routine for the next week.

Reflections in the crystal clear water

This process also created clouds of resin that managed to work its way into every orifice and cover every inch of bare skin. This had to be blown off as brushing or rubbing it would just form a paste with the sweat. To stop the dust getting in our eyes we would wear goggles and to stop it getting in our lungs we attempted to wear face masks. These however just made our goggles steam up so we had to do away with them and just hold our breaths. Using this method we torture boarded layer after layer of resin away in an attempt to create a smooth finish on both hulls of the catamaran.

Michael helps with bogging the boat
At night we were rewarded with fantastic food and as much wine as we could drink an offer that we all gratefully received, nobody more than Michael. Michael had been helping Rick on and off with his boat for a while now and made it up to Deeral whenever he had time. In his forties, Michael owns a nightclub back home in Germany and in his spare time enjoys prospecting for gold. He told us many a night of his plans to build his own boat and sail to Papua New Guinea to make his fortune in gold.

Phil eats fresh coconut from the garden Anne had her first injury at Deeral with a flowering plant called Bouganvilea. The wildly sprouting soft looking branches arched over the overgrown grass surrounding the neighbour's property. Thinking it to be harmless enough, in an attempt to mow down the long grass under the branches, Anne drove the mower through the purple flowers. She explained to us, as she asked us to pick the deep thorns out of her arms, that in an instant her top had been ripped off her, the mower had driven into a drain and the sharp branches had clawed gashes through her boobs. Half a bottle of detol later she had manged to remove the evil flower from her skin and had regained composure after her embarrasing ordeal with one of Australia's flowers. Even the shubberies are deadly around here.

In the evenings we would often head down to Ricks pontoon and attempt a spot of fishing. Our week in Deeral saw us earn a sizable donation to Book Aid as well as providing us with as much fuel as we could carry. Rick and Yvette had been wonderful people to stay with, and the opportunity to stay in one place for a week was very welcome, giving us the opportunity to experience the Tropics a little more closely.

With the Wet season soon approaching, little smatterings of rain had been falling and while never for very long, they nevertheless embolden the vegetation, encouraging it to grow, and this it does very quickly, giving a lush, multi-green hued vista. The sounds too, are incredible, especially at night, when everything wakes up and starts moving around. With their house beside the Mulgrave River, Rick and Yvette’s was a perfect location to acclimatise to Tropical life.

The gorgeous lush tropical lands of Northern Queensland
The synchronised croaking of the green tree frogs (every toilet bowl has one) is fascinating as first one, then another, then more, and before you know it many of them chime in and it the frog chorus. The cicadas can be deafening at times, their continual rhythmic drone all of a sudden erupting as if on command, and ending just as suddenly, leaving an audible hollow where all the noise used to be. The bird song is more intermittent but no less enchanting as they make a variety of whooping, cackling, popping, screeching calls, the butcher birds in particular sing all the time, their melody a duet as they call out to one another, answer, call again, and on they go. The flies, less welcome and always the herald of exclamatory cursing, buzz and land, buzz and land, the march flies being the worse of the lot; the possums fight and chase one another, a cacophonous racket on corrugated iron roof, the scrub turkeys burrow and roam about pretty absent mindedly rooting aound dead leaves. Crocodiles are heard around river banks at night, charging into the water after some unsuspecting creature (at least, that’s what we think, it may be a log falling, but, you never know. It’s the croc you don’t see that’ll kill ya, as people keep telling us). Being full of Mangrove Jacks and Barramundi, we often ventured down the Mulgrave river with much hope of success but in the event caught nothing but tree branches and mooring ropes.

Gareth laughs with the small but handsome Rick
It was here that we first heard a banjo playing in the distance and Anne following the sweet tune up the road found an underpant wearing scouser called John picking away on his porch. Surrounded by cane toads and swarms of flies we learnt that a long time ago John had success in a UK band called The Cryin Shames and was briefly in the charts.

Phil talks to Rick as he sands down the resin

We stayed in Deeral for over a week and had a fantastic time. Thank you to Rick and Yvette for opening their home to us, for feeding us lots of fantastic tasting and healthy food and for all the wine. We miss you both and will never forget being woken up at 6.30 with enthusiam every morning to the sound of that awful music.

8:28 PM

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Tuesday, January 06, 2009

Welsh Rarebits on Fitzroy Island
Category: Blogging

Welsh Rarebits on Fitzroy Island

It only took a couple of hours to drive from Walkamin to Cairns where we were to meet a man called Kerry who had been introduced to us by a previous host Carol Curtis. He and Carol had known each other a long time and he had kindly agreed to take us to Fitzroy Island early the following day on his Catamaran.

Welsh rare bits! Ouch!

We arrived early evening to a hearty meal of bangers and spuds and after dinner were shown a seemingly never ending series of short and apparently amusing email video clips from Kerrys upsettingly vast collection.

Phil tries to teach a frustrated Gareth how to do a bowline knot

You'll get it in the end Gareth
Up early the next morning we were down at the marina by seven thirty to meet Deb and her daughter Billie Jean who were also coming along. As part of a programme run by the yacht club Kerry takes people out most weeks to Islands dotted around Cairns.
We were on board and motoring down the Trinity inlet by eight, the decision had been taken to motor there and sail back due to the wind direction.

With little to do but lie back and enjoy our day off we headed for the front of the boat and assumed a reclined position. In flagrant defiance of his strawberry blonde complexion Gareth even hitched his shorts up to expose his prime quality Welsh thighs a decision he would soon regret. For three hours we watched the coast go by as we glided through the crystal water, the sea breeze masking the smell of Gareths right thigh cooking in the midday sun.

Kerry and Deb on the catamaran Paladin
We arrived at the Island just in time for lunch and it wasn’t till we all sat down to eat that Deb noticed the offending leg. With a shrug of his pink shoulders and a proclamation of his well being Gareth tucked into his sandwich, everybody else following suit. After lunch we took the dinghy over to the Island to explore.

Anne and Phil chill out on the trampolines

Fitzroy Island is located approximately 35 kilometres (18 nautical miles) south east of Cairns and forms part of the traditional lands of the Gurabara Gungandy people. This aboriginal tribe still has descendents living in the local region (Cairns and Yarrabah). Fitzroy was once part of the mainland so the rocks are the same as found on the mainland (ie, granite). Most of the island's water comes from a natural freshwater spring originating in the Tablelands near Mareeba, and surfacing in the National Park bush.

Here is the police boat named "Ivan Brodie" in memory of an officer in Queensland Police Service.
Captain Cook named Fitzroy Island in 1770 in honour of the duke of Grafton, Prime minister of England at the time whose surname was Fitzroy. It is one of 600 Continental or High islands on the Great Barrier Reef. It is located on the inner barrier of the central region of the Great Barrier Reef, and is part of the Great Barrier Reef World Heritage Area. The reef surrounding Fitzroy is known as a fringing reef and is teaming with marine life.

Phil reels in the anchor

We had an hour ashore before we were due back so we walked through part of the National Park that covers most of the Island to Nudey Beach. The Island has a dense population of Skinks, a type of lizard with really short legs that moves more like a snake. We saw plenty of these along the way of various size and colour, these animals when caught can shed their tails in an attempt to avoid capture.

The lovely Billy Jean hides from the fierce sun
Disappointed at the lack of nudists but not the beaches beauty we headed back as it had been made clear that morning that Kerry wouldn’t tolerate any tardiness.

Back aboard we lifted the anchor and once out of the sheltered bay and in to the wind hoisted the sail. It is a very liberating feeling to be at the mercy of the wind with no artificial power to propel you and a strange sensation to be moving so quickly and silently. On the return journey Kerry tried teaching us how to tie a Bowline knot and once we had managed this he had us attempting it with our eyes closed and behind our backs.

Ohhh sailor

Fitzroy island is covered in skinks

Back in Cairns Gareth applied liberal amounts of Aloe Vera cream to his legs and we met Kerry's family who had been away the previous night. We sat down to a well earned dinner after a hard days relaxing at sea. In spite of what people might think it is very rare that we have any time to ourselves on this trip and for this we are very grateful to Kerry.

We meet some ladies who are rowing to raise awareness of breast cancer

The next day Deb had arranged for us to do some weeding for her and we got a few extra dollars for our cause. Next, off to Deral to see Kerry's friends Rick and Yvette. Read a cheeky bit more!

8:27 PM

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Tuesday, January 06, 2009

Yungaburra Festival
Category: Blogging

Yungaburra Festival

Whilst staying with Erwin at his succulent nursery in Walkamin we visited the Yungaburra Folk Festival.
The first folk festival on the Atherton Tablelands was held not far away in Herberton in 1981 but then moved to Yungaburra the following year where it has been held ever since. Organised by local folk clubs for the first eleven years, it is now run by a committee of Tablelanders.

The festival celebrates world-wide folk traditions through music, storytelling, circus, dance, and crafts, and features musicians, dancers, circus and fire artists, comedians and festival performers.

Women and children make hats out of palm fronds
We established comms with festival organiser Chenny Cockburn who waived the usual fee and allowed us to set up a stall for free in the market area.
Here we tried to get peoples attention - displaying information about the charity and what we were trying to achieve on the trip. We also offered items of clothing and books that had been donated to us along the way in exchange for small donations to the charity.

Erwin on his cacti market stall

People enjoying the festival under the amazing purple flowering trees
The night turned out to be quite cold and we waited till most people had left before packing up and leaving. We returned the next day to visit the main weekly market and set the stall up again for a few hours at the festival.

Our stall at the festival
The weekend was a success and we managed to raise a few hundred dollars, together with the money we earned on the nursery, for Bookaid.
Thank you to the committee for granting us a free position and to Erwin for lending us the display equipment. Thank you also to those who donated food to us!

This amazing lady in pink was collecting for breast cancer on her trike. Well done!

We also visited the giant curtained fig tree.
This world famous fig tree is of the species Ficus virens, it is a strangler fig tree with its curtain of aerial roots dropping 15 metres (49 feet) to the ground.

8:25 PM

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Tuesday, January 06, 2009

A Prickly Job in the Tablelands
Category: Blogging

A Prickly Job in the Tablelands

Tweezers. I never thought I would be so thankful to have a pair, nor think I would need to put them to such constant use. But I should have predicted such a situation working on a cacti nursery. Erwin, an immigrant from Holland had found his quiet life in the Tablelands, sleeping under the stars and cooking in his caravan kitchen, spending his days tending to prickly plants.

With our work at Deeral delayed for a few days we spent a few minutes looking through the WOOFING book to find a host for the next few days. Our chances we thought at finding someone who needed help at such short notice was slim. The first number I tried already had all the workers they needed, the second host had very recently passed away and the third was Erwin. We secured directions to his nursery within two minutes of speaking and we had our next job lined up.

On Arrival we were treated first to a welcome us Brits could really appreciate: a cup of tea and some nice biscuits. Refreshed and introduced properly we were put straight to work; the boys, removing plants whose roots, too strong, had wound themselves around the meshed and rusting table top, moving them to a new home; me, put to work on a stool by a wheelbarrow full of sand and coconut husk mix to re-pot some small cacti free of prickles, of which I was very thankful for.

This would probably be a good time to explain why I am no stranger to the annoyance of cacti thorns. My little mother, otherwise known as Little Mam, had for as long as I can remember as a child, kept cacti on all the first and second floor window sills. These were always a mix of those with big spiky thorns and those which look harmless but contain millions of tiny hair like prickles which don’t hurt until they are found on your body in the most inopportune places and take days to drop out after causing much discomfort. Clever Little Mam kept the cacti there incase we were ever burgled, thinking that the thorns would deter, or at least punish, anyone who would think to rob us. While they have never as of yet been put to the burglar test, they did act as a way to deter child prints on windows and I can recall on countless occasions trying with all my might to remove the tiny red hairs from inbetween my fingers and toes.

Erwins very open outdoor shower in the garden

Knowing all too well that the cacti which look the most innocent to be the most painful I warned Gareth not to touch the cacti then touch any other parts of his body. Half an hour later Gareth comes towards me with his tongue out motioning for the tweezers.

Erwin in his old Asian Food Takeaway Caravan kitchen
In his mouth, on his face, all over his fingers, his neck and on his tongue, I tried to remove as many as I could but the amazing thing about this plant is that it is extremely hard to see the irritants even though you can feel them and they are easy to transfer to other parts of your body if you have them on your hands. Apparently he had gotten them all over his fingers and thought he should try and get them off before he transferred them all over himself so he decided to gnaw at his digits, transferring them all over his face and his mouth. Poor Gareth, lets hope he didn’t go to the toilet too soon after the perforated greeting from PR Nursery.

After the bathroom at Strathdickie I thought I would be able to deal with any toilet but I was yet again to be astounded by my lack of bravery.

Erwins outdoor livingroom
With my wind up torch in hand, giving me tunnel vision of the finest non peripheral vision, I begain my journey to the toilet strangely placed in the middle of the nursery. A labyrinth of deadly prickles on every side and a path covered in cane toads. And I know, having visited the outhouse during the day that I would have to fight my way through the spider webs, check under the toilet seat for Red Backs and then sit in the dark to relieve myself. I made an attempt for the loo at least four times and then finally gave up thinking it much easier to go bush toilet than fight my way through the perilous path to Erwin’s ceramic bowl.

The Tablelands are beautiful, peaceful and scenic. A great drive out.

Thank you for everything Erwin, we really enjoyed learning from you and hope to see you again someday! If anyone would like to join Erwin as a WWOOFer then please refer to PR Nursery in the WWOOFing handbook, he always need a hand with his cacti.

8:24 PM

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