Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Straddie Classic?

Well, not really. All in, it wasn't the best of Easter breaks. I knew the campsite (cabin) wasn't going to be great (they didn't take credit card bookings over the phone), but we were unprepared for just how bad it was going to be...... It was run by an old couple, who (I speculate now) opened what was probably a half decent place back in 1960. Since then they have neither modernised nor maintained the place. This, coupled with the almost constant ‘sounds of the 60s’ (Presley, Herman's Hermits, Sonny and Cher, Beatles et al) blaring from next door, meant it was like being stuck in a kind of timewarp nightmare.

There was no shop, in the cabin the taps fell off and leaked all over the bathroom, the chairs (only 3 of them) were broken, the bed was uncomfortable and the blankets were made of shark's hide - smooth in one direction, but capable of drawing blood when pulled the other way. I actually felt jealous of the people camping in tents - their area was all shady and secluded. That is, I felt jealous until a storm hit and we had torrential rain for the first time in more than a month.

On top of that, Dunwich (where we were staying) was 'closed' mostly; due to the public holidays. The only thing to eat was chips... with chips... with an optional meat pie. And ketchup.

I should have seen it coming, but not being superstitious, when my bike chain came off before even leaving the driveway, I just put it back on and rushed to the train, not aware that it could have been some kind of omen.

North Stradbroke Island is one a chain of sand islands on the southern east coast of Queensland, starting from the south with South Stradbroke and culminating 450km to the north with World Heritage Listed Fraser Island. For the most part they are made of sand, but they have been formed by various off-shore rocky outcrops interrupting the northward drift of sand. Most are densely forested and receive plenty of rainfall due to their elevation and oceanic loaction. “Straddie” reaches a peak of over 290m and Moreton Island is even higher. For a sand bar, that’s quite a height.

A colleague at work mentioned that once the ferry to the island pulls away from the ramp, you feel like you are leaving the stresses of mainland life ashore and are sailing off to holidayland. I must agree, that by this stage, notwithstanding trouble with the chain, with all public transport running on cue (not actually unusual here) I was beginning to understand what he meant. As ‘Australia’ (as Matthew said, who obviously considered the geographical implications of conceiving Australia as an island, rather than a nation), receded astern you really did begin to relax and look forward to a fine weekend.

On arrival at North Stradbroke Island, we found that Dunwich (main settlement leeside) wasn’t up to much and was on the most part closed, despite it being one of the busiest periods of the year. Silly me, expecting a parade of cafes, restaurants, pubs and shops and a lively trade in holiday fare.

We settled on chips for lunch (from a choice of chips) and considered our options for dinner later. On learning that the pub next door had closed down and the one grocery store and grog shop in the town were closed for the day, we banked on the RSL Club round the corner being open later.

Following our gourmet meal of salt, vegetable oil and potato, we headed for the campsite to be confronted by the second disappointment of the morning; no not the campsite (that was the third disappointment), but the hills. While a breeze for a mountain bike with 136 gears, for James, on his BMX and his short legs, they were a bit more challenging. This was going to severely limit where we could go.

Then there was the campsite disappointment.

That afternoon – still reeling from the shock of the scabby cabin - we headed north to Myora Springs, a freshwater spring, seeping out the ground into a steamy mangrove swamp: mildly interesting.

Later we pushed the bikes up the (very) steep (and long) hill to the east of Dunwich and down again to Brown Lake, a freshwater pool, brown in colour due to staining from leaf detritus – rather like a giant cup of tea, except stewed with eucalyptus leaves. Brown Lake is a gorgeous spot. A pleasant cycle through the bush reveals a small picnic area and a fantastic beach and swimming spot. As the water is still, the lake small and the weather warm, it was like swimming in a bath. (However, I couldn’t quite work out why a lake would form here. Surely sand is porous, therefore the island shouldn’t hold water above the water table??)

On cycling back into Dunwich we found the aforementioned RSL closed; it being Easter holidays and all. So unless we fancied either chips, chips or meat pie for dinner, we were stuck. In the end, we had pie and pop and cake. Then headed back to the hovel to listen to next door’s 60s music.

It wasn’t that they played it till late. By 8pm they turned it off and retired to the other side of us to watch American Idol at full volume. Now, I have never watched American Idol, Idol Australians or even Pop Idol, but I am sure there is a type of person that does. Viewing figures can’t be wrong, can they? So I accept that some people watch it. But what I cannot accept is that there are some people that both watch it and make vociferous critical judgements of the singers. Surely no one can take it that seriously.

Then it rained, heavily, for most of the night.

Unabashed, we woke the next morning with renewed vigour to enjoy our holiday. Today, the bikes would stay locked up and we would catch the bus to Point Lookout. Frustratingly, we missed the first one and had to wait an hour. But when the driver charged us a whopping $28 (total) it seemed any price was worth it to escape the caravan park.

Point Lookout is a much larger town on the north east tip of the island. It sits atop the rocky outcrop onto which all the sand on the entire island is banked up against. It was named in 1770 by one passing James Cook, charting the east coast of Terra Australis Incognito. Cook was never renowned for his imaginative naming of places. There are “Ship Cove”s in most places in the Pacific at which he anchored his ships and many other places are named after famous Admirals and politicians; Cook was acutely aware of the subtle system of patronage required to fund such voyages, flattery was everything, hence his “greatest discovery”, the Sandwich Isles (now Hawaii) was named after the chap who invented the sandwich, and was also an important decision maker in the Admiralty. Indian Head, on Fraser Island, is perhaps the one exception to Cook’s banal nomenclature, this being a headland on Fraser Island on which Aboriginals gathered to watch the Endeavour sail by. It was really the first time indigenous ‘Australians’ had really ever paid any attention to him. When you stand in front of the plaque (erected in 1970, 200 years post-Cook) gazing out to sea, you can begin to imagine how the coast must have looked to the crew of the Endeavour.

Presumably Cook so named Point Lookout as it was a good point from which to lookout from. Had a sailed passed today, he might well have named it Point 4WD, due to the plethora of these huge vehicles pounding the streets, causing the pedestrians to ‘look out’ lest they get flattened against the roo-bars, or dare cross at a zebra-crossing.

Point Lookout has some fantastic vistas and wonderful beaches. We spent the morning lying on one before embarking on the obligatory walk around the headland and through the North and South Gorges. From here, at whale migration time you can see the water spouts. If you are lucky you get to see dolphins, sharks and manta rays. We settled for the half-dozen turtles playing in the surf before retiring to a smart(ish) restaurant for a fine lunch and a couple of beers. Now, I was beginning to feel on holiday.

Post-lunch we headed back to another beach (oh, the beaches) before the storm clouds rumbled into action. North of Brisbane got hit badly, with golf-ball sized hail stones but Stradbroke just got very wet, and really only very briefly. In the evening we headed to Dunwich and the Easter fair; a load of rides for the kids and chips for the hungry. The kids enjoyed it, despite the constant threat of deluge and the prospect of cycling 4km back to the caravan site in the dark and in the wet. (But bare in mind, it is still 25 degrees.)

By this stage we decided to head home a day early, so the next morning we packed up (not much of a chore when cycling and only carrying three small bags) and boarded the ferry back to Australia. Before scurrying back home, we spent the afternoon pottering around Cleveland – a pleasant enough olde-world place, which the huge sprawling canal developments have failed to completely ruin. Public transport to time, again.

Straddie would be great with either bikes or kids. Just never both. Oh and don’t stay at Myora Caravan Park either.

---