Here We Go Again - Chapter 10 - Hervey Bay Day 3 (Fraser Island)

Expectations are high. We are about to cross off one item for Robyn’s  Bucket List, a visit to Frazer Island. 

The bus to pick us up and take us to the ferry will arrive at 7.15 so we are up early, showered and out the door. The others, just as pumped, are ready as well. Its a short walk to the bus stop directly outside the van park. Others begin to accumulate, with the same expectation. A young couple with a child, child seat in hand also join us – gutsy effort I think. I ask the young girl if she is ready for an adventure, the still waking eyes lighten as she nods.

The big blue bus arrives. Butch, our guide for the day allights and begins to tick us from his mainfest. He hands our menus for lunch, the schedule is so tight we will need to be on time and on schedule to get everything planned – in. The young couple are not coming with us. Butch suggests to them another bus will arrive shortly and almost on cue a “baby poo yellow” bus arrives to take them. Seems appropriate really!!

We head off. Butch has only 2 speeds, stopped and flat out is seems. Robyn and I have taken up spots in the rear of the bus. The seats here are elevated giving a better view and also potentially assisting in alleviating any travel sickness that may raise its ugly head. There are other pickups. We come to a halt, Butch jumps off the bus, rns through the same story for each and we are off again.

With the last pickup completed, Butch adorns a microphone and starts his commentary. We are going to be on this bus all day, so get comfortable. The tour company limits the numbers on the bus to 24 in a 45 capacity bus for comfort. Butch is a welath of informaiton even if he cannot pronounce Bowral – the home of Sir Dionald Bradman’s early years – correctly. It sounds like Booral when he has a go at it. He is of course a Queenslander and they do things differently up here.

At the ferry, we have the option of staying on the bus or sitting on the deck areas of the ferry. We choose the latter, as does everyone else. After completing the finalisation  of the tour costs for the day, I head, discussing the pronunciation of Bowral with Butch to the ferry. He is a likeable guy, perfect for a tour guide. Absolutely approachable, apparently extremely knowledgeable and with that twinkle in his eye that the bravado that exudes sometimes make you wonder if he is just winging it. It reminds me of the Blues Brothers (1980 Universal Pictures) where Ackroyd discusses the difference between lying and bull shit as he talks of losing touch with the band while Juliet Jake was in the slammer.

The ferry ride is uneventful, 35 minutes of blissful ride through the channel to the island. The obligatory dolphins, some surface cutting fish and the ever increasing mudflats, evidence of the lowering tide are the highlights. Coming into the island we are beckoned back onto the “Blue Rocket” for blast off onto the island. The bus was the last vehicle of the ferry so first off, and for those others on the ferry, probably a Godsend as Butch literally balsts off onto the islandd once he as negotiated the drop off.

The roads on the island are simply tracks in the sand between the trees it seems. Perhaps the back of the bus wasn’t such a great idea as each bump is exacerbated by the distance of the wheelbase. The bush here changes very quickly. At the boat ramp there was low lying scrub. We are soon onto the coastal bush and then into the subtropical rainforest.

 Butch waxes lyrcially about the history of the island, the original inhabitants, the loggers and the conservationists. He numbers very specifically the numbers of animal, bird and plant species on the island and its the specificity that calls his numbers into question. Dont let the truth get in the way of a good story and Butch is a very good story teller.

At one point we stop and Butch suggestes at the front of the bus the subtropical rainforest begins and the coastal vegetation ends AND that we sitting a the back of the bus are yet to see the rainforest, so far back are we. No Butch there is no line – but keep talking.

Because of the tides we are going to do the beach section of the tour first. The speed limit on the beach is 80 kph and  Butch ensures we get the most out of the 80 kph experience. He suggests the beach is kind to us today, with little wind and surf. This means there are no gouges out of the beach and he can maintain maximum speed for long periods.

Stops are made for interesting parts. The aquifers here “secrete” fresh water into creeks and out to the ocean. Some creeks provide water making them move at speeds that would fill an olympic sized swimming pool in 23 minutes according to Butch. There is that accuracy again.

Frazer Island is one of only two islands (in the world according to Butch and confirmed by the pilots we are about to meet) where commercial planes are able to legally land. We drive up to a plane on the beach and are offered sightseeing tours. A group takes up the offer and head off. They will not miss anything for the tour as the planning is such that we will go from here to the next stop, where we will pick them back up and the return drive will give them the remainder of the beach experience.

Amazing creeks and coloured sands are experienced, as are the forays off the beach and into the bush to circumvent the need to drive into the ocean around rocky outcrops. This innovation to the Frazer Island experience has saved many vehicles from the treacherous ocean since its implementation. Butch tells of anohter operator’s driver who thought better of using the detour. That bus is no more, nor is his employment I suspect.

We pass the wreck of the Moanna (we will get that on the way back, and when we finally make the U-turn for home, we pick up the intrepid flyers, gobsmacked from what they have seen on their short flight. Unfortunately the weather has turned a little nasty with a squall heading in from the north and the joy flights are curtailed, leaving those others from the tour you wished to do the flight disappointed.

On the way back now, we stop at Moanna and take the obligatory snaps. One of the tourists has a drone and sends it up for a run around the wreck. He is supposed to keep the drone to under 120 metres in height but exclaims you just don’t get the full picture, using this to justify his flaunting of the laws. I must admit the pictures he got of the wreck were great.

All the creeks here run from aquifers deep under the island. Because the water filters down through the sand the water is very pure. The creek water I would have thought may have been salty but checking it not very far from the ocean, it was very drinkable. There is a boardwalk here at Eli Creek extending far back up the tributary. A couple of the girls on the tour decide to walk the water. The water is cool but not cold and I video them getting into the water and traversing the thigh high water back to the ocean for them.

Back on the bus and I assume the jump seat at the suggestion of Butch. From here taking pictures and videos is a much different proposition. I video the detour around the rocks, trying hard not to bounce the phone too much as to lose the vista. I also get the full experience fo the speed at which we career down the beach. 

When we were stopped Butch was quite adamant taht we needed to use our eyes and not rely on our ears to warn us of oncoming traffic. The sound of the surf drowns out the engine noises making traversing the beach a challenge. Today at least the traffic was light, but I suspect on weekends and holiday periods it would be total carnage.

Arriving back at the resort we are hustled into Mackenzies Restaurant where our lunches are duly distributed. More than adequate repast, with a glass of wine does well for the 45 minutes Butch has allowed us.

Back on the bus and we are off for the rainforest/timber logging section of the tour. 

Butch had said earlier that although there were a significant number of animal species on the island, emus were not amongst them. I am eager to recount this to my daughter Kirsten, a period Wiradjuri woman and enquire of our guide, what the local indigneous people think of Gugurmin – the emu in the sky. His answer was they don’t even know of it. Their totem is a dingo. It made me wonder of the Rainbow Serpent stories we heard in Katherine Gorge and what Kirsten had told us of the use of the stars by the Aboriginal people for in excess of 60,000 to decide on seasonal activities. More than my simple mind will deduce for now.

Timber logging of the magnificent species of trees that grow on the large blog of sand east of Hervey Bay went on for many years. It was only halted by World Heritage listing and a major payout to the loggers for loss of income for the curtailing of their lease. Our tour shows us little “damage” to the bush land. We visit the central area where the workers lived and yes their impression on the land remains, but on our walks into the forests, the giants still exist, and in apparent abundance. Given according to Butch some of the bigger trees are more than 1,000 years old, its a wonder we dont see more evidence. Then again this is a very large island and at the central camp, ghost gum looking trees were replanted in 1959 and they are as high as any others in the vicinity. 

The height of the trees here is mind blowing. At one stage we do the tree hugging experience (but no Kumbaya) and it takes 6 of the tourists to encircle it. One of the trees we are told by our mind blowingly knowledgeable guide was the inspiration for the Australian Army camouflage pattern. You can see the implication.

The highlight of the afternoon session is a trip up to experience Lake Mackenzie. Here we can swim if we like but our guide warns of the shape of the bottom, falling away very quickly. The water is so clear, even at depths that would see you well and truly submerged the bottom is clearly visible.

Butch has also warned of the bouyancy here bing much less than you might expect. We enquire of the swimmers in the water and they float just fine. I suspect the warning might have been about the bottom and its incline more than the buoyancy. Whilst nothing like the Red Sea,  none of the swimmers sank like the rock implied by our guide.

The sand granules here are evidently quite rounded and good for exfoliating is the comment from Butch. So good in fact he laughs that he did not recognise some who had taken 10 years off the faces – funny man.

One last stop and a walk along a boardwalk over the creek that flows down to the ferry point a few miles away. On first look, it seems the creek is clogged with algae and the water is not flowing. Far from it. What appears to be algae is actually the sandy bottom of the water course. The water is flowing quite quickly here but there is little or no sound, a point heavily noted by our guide. But he is right, the silence is deafening only broken by the babble of the tourists exclaiming at what they see,

The water is clear but “polluted” with fallen palm fronds and debris from the trees. Rose notes Forbsy looking longingly at the mangled mess, feeling the need to “clean the pool” or at least as Forbsy quips, line up the palm fronds in some sort of order.

The tour is done, we are back at the ferry. We have seen and done an incredible amount today. Butch even managed to fit in a bonus experice becasue we were so good at getting on and off the bus in a timely manner.

Its been a special day. One that won’t be forgotten quickly.

Back at the park in the dark, Silver Leader has booked us into a local Italian Restaurant for dinner. Mrs Google suggests its 400 meters form the van park – not bloody likely, we passed it in the bis on our return – more like 4 kilometres. We flooded into the Forbsy Cruiser for the drive and just as well we did, during dinner the rain started. Pasta (namely fettucini) is the order of the day for me and Robyn digs into a Veal Marsala. We regale the tales of the day and when it is time to go we are more than happy the Forbsy machine is at the front door with precipitation being heavy. During dinner I receive a call from a mate, presently cruising the coast in his yacht with his wife. They are morreda the south end of Frazer Island and will be mooring just off Hervey Bay tomorrow. Not sure if we will be able to catch up, but I suspect we might be able to see them moored from the pier when we go fishing on the top of the tide.

Their trip up the coast has been fraught with weather issues and they are very happy they have been able to shelter inside Frazer for a couple of days.

The rain on the van makes the decision to sleep rather than work and easy one.