Fraser Island, or K'gari as it was known long before time began by the Butchulla people, is a magnificent sandy island that is nearly all world heritage listed National Park. There are almost no sealed roads on the island, meaning the only way to get around it is by boat, or four wheel drive. Half of the adventure is in getting here - with soft sand on the beach landing the first hurdle. Rocky pulled us through the soft sand to the firmer stuff closer to the waters edge, and before we knew it, we were on the ferry heading on our way across to K'gari.
On the Manta Ray ferry
The easiest 'road' to drive on the island is the eastern beach. Whilst you can drive it at high tide, the soft sand makes it heavy going. We elected to wait until a couple of hours before low water, meaning we would easily clear Hook Point and then be able to drive up to our camp at Dundaburra, about three quarters of the way up the eastern beach towards Indian Head. Our spirits were high as we rounded the point and started making our way north. The sand was hard, and we cruised up comfortably at around 60km/hr, well under the signposted 80km/hr. This is a gazetted road, and normal road rules apply, despite the challenges of surf, fishermen, creeks, washouts and swales in the sand.
Due to the tides, we arrived in camp reasonably late and set up quickly. The beautiful shaded camp-site was fenced, meaning we wouldn't have to worry about Dingos around camp. Goannas were another story, meaning we still had to follow our usual food and rubbish pack away routine.
The eastern beach is not a safe swimming beach - but too good not to visit, so not long after brekky the next morning we went down to check it out. We found a delightful clear freshwater stream, set up our shade and settled in to a relaxing morning, waiting for the tide to drop a little before exploring further.
We decided that it was worth heading north to check out Indian Head and Champagne Pools. We followed the well worn tracks north and bounced our way past Indian Head. I was really struggling to get the right balance of momentum, power and going as slow as possible. On this track I got it completely wrong, and we suffered a bit of damage as we fell into a massive hole. We tested the flexibility of the Amarok, with the headboard making contact with the rear window - with predictable consequences. Thankfully no one was hurt and the boys thought it was all an exciting part of the day. After an hour or so at the base of Indian Head making running repairs after our little 'incident', we continued to Champagne Pools.
From the top of the board-walk, the pools looked delightful. About half a dozen people were sitting in a picturesque sheltered rock pool with occasional waves breaking over the protective rock barrier creating a mass of bubbles, hence the pool's name. We couldn't wait to get in, but as we dithered in the car-park collecting water bottles, towels and the like, a steady stream of people started walking past us.
We raced down to the pools eager to get in, and we had a great time frolicking in the water. It was warm, shallow, but enough push from the waves to keep the Little Helpers excited. We had a great time in the water. All the while we expected at least one group of people to leave, following the usual tourist timetable of enough time for a photo and a quick dip - but none left, and still they came.
We had fluked our timing to see the best of the tides at the pools - too much water and the waves crash relentlessly into the pools. Too little and they're all but dried up. The tourist operators obviously knew the importance of the tides. as still the steam of people came. As the water started to drop away we retreated out of the water and made our way back to camp.
Tourist Central at Champagne Pools
The next day, we decided to drive one of the recommended tourist loop roads on the Island. We passed the wreck of the Maheno, and realised we were the only people in the area. It was too good an opportunity to miss, so we leapt out of the car and spent a bit of time in quiet contemplation at this iconic wreck.
The SS Maheno was an ocean liner, which operated in the Tasman Sea from 1905 voyaging between Australia and New Zealand. After a stint as a hospital ship in World War I with the New Zealand Naval Forces, she was retired in 1935, and was being towed to Japan for scrapping, when cyclonic conditions caused her towline to part, and she came to rest on 75 Mile Beach. There were 8 men onboard when the line parted, and they were powerless to do anything as the ship's propellers had been removed. The men set up camp on the beach and were rescued about a week after the ship grounded.
We continued our drive inland, and had our first introduction to the inland tracks. These narrow sand tracks cover much of the island, and were mostly tedious. They were rough, and slow going - but they did take us into the heart of the island, and introduced us to some of the giant timber that makes this place special.
The island was logged for over 100 years, until finally in 1991 all logging was ceased. One of the trees that was harvested was the Satinay. Beautiful tall, straight timber, much of it was used in the construction of the Panama Canal, as the timber doesn't rot in salt water. Dead straight, and often up over 30 metres before the first branch, it is easy to see why it was such a prized timber.
The other thing that is unique on Fraser Island are the many large freshwater lakes. These lakes, 'perched' above sea level are not only beautiful - but as they are in sand, incredible that they actually exist at all. Apparently it all has to do with a layer of peat that provides a waterproof membrane, trapping the water, and stunting the growth of the vegetation surrounding the lake.
We were obviously not on the main tourist circuit, so enjoyed our drive, and the lakes all to ourselves. These lakes are very much in their natural state, with tannin stained water. We saw curious turtles, and enjoyed some peaceful contemplation at Lake Allom.
Our last stop before heading back to camp was the Knifeblade Sandblow. This mobile sand dune is advancing at around 1 metre per year, swallowing up bushland in its path. Unfortunately the view from the lookout wasn't enough to appease at least one Little Helper - so we decided to do something about it the next day.
Just behind our camp at Dundaburra is another sandblow - the Wungul Sandblow, and we decided to take the short 1km walk to the dunes. Stepping out onto the sand is quite confronting as the transition from bush to bare sand is quite sudden.
The kids were beside themselves, at last they felt they could play in the worlds largest sandpit - and we let them run amok leaping up and down dunes and having a ball - whilst Jo and I kept an eye out for Dingos. In no time at all the boys had sand everywhere - as only boys can do, but it didn't seem to dent their enthusiasm for leaping, frolicking and burying each other.
As energy levels started to wane, a couple of rounds of Mr Squiggle were conducted - with some rather imaginative solutions (meaning you needed a good imagination to see the solution). In all it was a wonderful way to spend the morning, before we headed back down to the beach and spent a wonderful afternoon with the Clifton family whom we met on our travels earlier in the year. Their blog with many insightful parts to their journey is a thoroughly enjoyable read and can be found here: https://cliftoncamping.wordpress.com/
Fraser Island is an amazingly beautiful place, but we struggled to really connect with it in the way that we had hoped. Perhaps it was the convoys of backpackers, or the tourist coaches that raced along the beaches, or perhaps it was that the other drivers didn't wave back (I could count the ones that did return my waves on one hand). It could just be that the constant challenge to keep sand out of beds, the vigilance required for Dingos was a bit too much. I also suspect breaking the back window took a little bit of the wind out of our sails, proving for the first time that Rocky isn't unbreakable and I still need a bit more practice at getting this driving on sand right.
I also suspect it is to do with the fact we are back in popular tourist trails, where everything caters to the lowest common denominator. There were signs everywhere warning about Dingos. There were signs warning about the injuries you could sustain when diving into shallow lakes, or the dangers facing you at every turn. We liked the Northern Territory's approach, where a small yellow sign reminded you that crocodiles were in the water - and left the rest up to you - even at Cahills Crossing where more people are taken by crocodiles than any where else in the country, there are no other signs, flashing lights or billboards. Kings Canyon is another place, where sheer cliffs are not fenced - allowing people to make their own decisions as to how close they will go to the edge. Kind of like natural selection at work.
I don't mean to trivialise the risks of Dingo attack, and because they look like the domestic dog (and oh so cute), the risk is more subtle than a crocodile, but at every information shelter, we were bombarded with information about Dingos, often without information about the site we were visiting, It is a tough balance to strike, and I guess whilst people continue to prove that we are unwilling to learn from the mistakes of others, the billboards wont be going away any time soon.
For now though - we had enjoyed a practice run on the coast, and on a couple of tracks. It was time to hit the inland proper, and relocate our camp to the centre of the island, at the appropriately named Central Station camp-ground. This time half the challenge was in getting there - but little did we know, far worse was around the corner.
No comments:
Post a Comment