East Coast Expedition: Fun on Fraser, Day 2

Jan 26, 2011

I was up at 5:30 a.m. this morning. I couldn't sleep a wink. The second the sun rose, I did too. The rest of the camp woke an hour later and we went about making breakfast, a much easier task if you opt for a bowl of corn flakes like I did (a more difficult task if you attempted to make scrambled eggs). We set off at 8:00 a.m. for a nearby beach where Monkey and Byron lead us on a hike through brush and tall grasses up to the top of Indian Head, a coastal headland (aka- a cliff) overlooking the Fraser Coast. It reminded me a lot of the ledge that Mufasa stands atop in the movie Lion King when the "Circle of Life" song plays, except that this one overlooked the ocean, not an entire animal kingdom. I sat perched on a jagged, uncomfortable rock taking in the stunning view and enjoying the wind whip through my hair and brush against my skin. I was in my own little harmony bubble that couldn't be popped; not even a dingo could have disturbed my zen at that moment.

Indian Head from up high

The hike up Indian Head

Monkey debriefing us about the place

The drop below

View from the cliff

It began to get hot atop the rock, so we returned back down the slope and took off for the Champagne Pools for a swim. The Champagne Pools (named so because the foaming water looks like champagne) are popular swimming holes that result from the ocean crashing over rock barriers and forming shallow, sandy pools. After working up a sweat climbing Indian Head, I was looking forward to diving into the Champagne Pools to cool off. Once there, I realized to my disappointment that these weren't the type of pools one could dive into, nor cannon ball in for that matter. In fact, it was a challenge just to wade into the pools because of all the uneven and sharp rocks that lined its floor. I wasn't interested in acting like a beached whale laying awkwardly in these big beach puddles (pool was a misleading term. Giant puddles is more accurate) with rocks jabbing into my spine. So I headed over to the other side of the pools where Monkey, Byron and their friend Joe (he was Dolly's mechanic) were chilling by the beach. We chit-chatted for a while, relaxing on the beach until the E-team returned from the pools to prepare lunch. My darling children kindly made mine, ringing the lunch bell when it was ready (another sandy roast beef sandwich, but made with love).

The Champagne Pools

Or a very big, rocky puddle

The E-Team preparing lunch (see me lounging in the background?)

Once nourished, the E-team and another English lad on the trip, Patrick, attempted to teach me how to play cricket. They had come equip with a cricket bat and ball and so we took to the beach for the humorous lesson. But not before Monkey gave me some of his heavy-duty, SPF 1,000 + sunscreen. We had been blessed with clear skies, and Mr. Sun's rays were shining powerfully down on our delicate skin. Monkey said this was the stuff surfers wear for protection. We all know my not-so-secret desire to be a surfer chick, and so I automatically squeezed out a dollop and smeared it all over my face. Cool, I thought. Until I peered in Dolly's rear view mirror: my face was ghastly white! I knew this wasn't the type of sunscreen that one rubs in fully, but I misjudged just how white it would be. It was like a clay mask one would apply at a spa. I looked like a mime. Not exactly a look that enhances my surfer chick persona. Oh well, at least I knew that not a single skin cell on my face that was going to burn. No skin cancer for this girl! Now it was time to play ball (well, cricket. You know what I mean.)

Hanging out on the beach

The concept of playing cricket was a simple one to grasp: hit the ball with the bat. "You mean like baseball?" I inquired as I imitated my best David Wright stance with the bat elevated above my shoulder ready to strike the cricket ball. "Ah, no," Patrick replied. "Well, maybe. I don't know, we don't play baseball really." He then proceeded to show me the proper cricket batting stance, which looked more like someone gearing up to strike a golf ball. Damn, I was awful at golf, but I gave it a go. Likewise, I was awful at cricket. Granted, it was my first time ever playing the sport, but it was clear I was not a born natural. Still, I had fun practicing with Patrick and pretty soon got the hang of it. Soon everyone else joined in and we played a modified cricket game. I rotated playing catcher, pitcher and outfielder. I most enjoyed being catcher because it primarily required chasing down lose balls and throwing them back to the pitcher. Throwing was something I could do, and well, so being catcher negated my awful batting performance and boosted up my self esteem. It was especially fun playing cricket on the beach because the waves would randomly come crashing over us, cooling us off and adding a surprise element to the game. Had we been standing in a grassy field without waves cooling us off, I might have been less partial to the game.

Playing cricket

Batter Up!

After our afternoon ball game, we piled back into Dolly and headed to the Maheno Shipwreck, one of Fraser Island's landmark attractions. The SS Maheno was one of the first turbine-driven steamers built in 1905. The Japanese bought her in 1935, and while towing her back to Japan a nasty cyclone broke the tow chain, leaving the Maheno stranded at sea until she drifted ashore Fraser's beach where she has remained untouched ever since. Monkey explained that the military use to use the shipwreck for training. Now it is just a cool artifact that inquiring minds like myself get to "ooh" and "ahh" at. A few yards inland from the ship was a beautiful stream that we all went for a dip in. Patrick, Joe, Kit and I took to playing skim ball; this was quickly becoming my new favorite pass-time activity. Then it was back to camp for dinner and the evening festivities.

The Maheno shipwreck

Just a tad rusty

With Kit

The stream where we took a late afternoon dip

I forgot to mention something important: today was Australia Day. So, HAPPY AUSTRALIA DAY! How rude of me, please pardon my lateness. Australia Day is the equivalent to our 4th of July, a holiday that I love. There is no better way to pass a summer day than with parades, barbeque's and fireworks. When in Australia, you most definitely celebrate Australia Day so we made certain to throw an Australia Day bash at camp that evening. First we prepared our chicken stir fry dinner (this was much less popular among the dingos). The Joe, the outgoing lad he is, gathered the entire camp together in one large circle for a game of "Never have I ever." The premise is you say something that you have never done before, and anyone in the circle who has done that thing must drink (for those of you who may not be familiar with the game). So if someone said, "Never have I ever gone sky diving" then I would drink because I have. Get it? You should. It's easy. It was the only game we could think of that a group of our size could play together in an effort to bond everyone outside of their smaller teams. It was the merging of teams A-E.

Olivia and Nicola with their Aussie Day bottles. Aren't they cute?

Circled up for Never Have I Eve.

Afterwards I was pooped. My watch read 9:00 p.m. but it felt like 3:00 a.m. to me. It must of been all that cricket playing. I quietly snuck off and crawled into my tent where I took a quick power nap. I emerged two hours later, re-energized to join back in the Australia Day celebration. "Mummy!" Kit exclaimed. "Where did you go?" Crap. I was caught. I was glad someone noticed I was missing, but what loser takes a nap at 9:00 on Australia Day? Last time I checked I was 24, not 124; I was in the prime of my youth. This was unacceptable behavior. "I was just down at the beach," I fibbed as I tried to nonchalantly wipe off the crusty drool that was cemented to my cheek. Nicola looked at me suspiciously. "You were sleeping, weren't you?" she asked. Damn her. Now I was really caught. "Shhh," I said winking at her. "Don't blow my cover." We giggled as she passed me her goon-filled Australia Day water bottle (she had bought one specifically for the occasion). Goon is the cheap Australia wine that comes in a bag in a box. It is awful. I think you'd probably be better off drinking your own piss than that stuff. But piss doesn't get you pissed (the English way of saying "drunk"). Goon does. And so it is the go-to beverage of all travelers.

A quick word about the word "pissed." My foreign friend's use of this word confused me more than any other. "I'm pissed," someone would state and I would inquire why concerned that I had done something to anger them. My reaction always amused the English or Aussie person I was speaking to. I had to explain that where I come from "piss" is something you do over a toilet and "pissed" is what you are when someone pisses on you instead of the toilet. I warned them that use of the term in the states could result in someone handing them toilet paper or a diaper. Speaking of piss (isn't this a fun topic?), there were no toilets at our camp site. Our toilet was the sand beneath our feet. If we had to piss we were instructed to do so in the foliage somewhere away from camp. You just had to squat and go, and give a little shake afterwards. This was easier for the gentlemen than it was for the ladies. However, both sexes were faced with the same dilemma when it game to going number two (the doo-doo). This act required grabbing a shovel, digging a hole in the sand a good distance away from camp, sending up a quick prayer that no one would round the corner while you relieved yourself, and squatting and going. Then one had to cover up the hot mess to keep the dingos away (apparently they are attracted to poo), and to maintain some level of sanitation around camp. Fortunately, I never had to do the dirty deed while at camp. My beloved digestive system was on its best behavior and I was lucky enough to be around an actual toilet whenever I was in need of one. I think I'll leave it at that. Moving on...

My Australia Day celebration culminated with a hearty discussion with Monkey about the most random topics. In addition to talking about our lives, we spoke about British currency; who actually owns the US (I'm still not sure who the who is); Bush and the Twin Tower conspiracy (can't avoid that topic, no matter where you go outside the US it will come up); and the Haiti earthquake being a man made disaster (I recall something about a massive harp instrument that generates vibrations and facilitates earthquakes. Or maybe that was something I dreamed?). It was an enlightening conversation to say the least. By the end of it, Monkey said that I had totally changed his perception of Americans. Mission accomplished! It was pitch black out, and so I slyly patted myself on the back. I could now go to sleep a happy camper.