Hamilton

Greetings,
Chips. The world loves chips. If it doesn't come with chips you are not eating a meal, you are just fooling about. Chips, you complete me. Even
armed with this knowledge Graz is somewhat taken aback to find her thai green curry from the local Tully Heads restaurant comes served with the yellow sticks of happiness. Foolish woman. Next she will be complaining about the cask moselle, which like the grey nomads seems to have migrated north for its final years.

Tully Heads is still our home, and despite what my preamble might suggest we
are enjoying it. The elderly faces are starting to take on recognisable
characteristics, so we can say "g'day Bob" or "evening Pearl" with some
confidence that that is indeed their name, and we are enjoying the company
of our new friends Alan and Carlene and Ken and Marlene. It is tempting to
stay put and constantly feel young but we have a date to meet some old/young
friends Phil and Sheree on Hamilton Island, they being there for some
mucking about with yachts, so down the coast we head, sans caravan, for a
couple of days.


It is great to see friends again, and to be honest, young people. And it is not just me who is struck (figuratively) by all the bare flesh and beautiful
people around - Graz returns from a trip to the chemist all flushed from the encounter. You know how these pretty-boy chemists are.

Phil has kindly wrangled us a spot on the 50' yacht he and Sheree are on for the big Whitehaven Beach Party, which is a great day.

Picture a normally deserted pristine white sandy beach in the middle of the whitsundays. Now
picture it with hundreds of yachts moored off it and thousands of revellers getting drunker and pinker on it. There is the usual horde of poms but we have a great time anyway. Graz even climbs the mast in the bosuns chair.

The following day we sadly bid farewell to Phil and Sheree and head back up the coast, stopping for lunch at what I think is the only reason to visit Bowen, namely the fish shop. Damned good home made fish cakes. Later that night we receive word via drunken text that Phil's boat has won its race and they are into their seventh bottle of Moet. As usual, our timing sucks.

The weather has started to improve to the extent that after a couple of days
we head off shore in the little tinny to chase some mackerel between the
islands. It takes us a while to locate Secret Spot (in between I catch a
huge suckerfish) but when we do it is all happening. Three big fish the
first day, six the second. The water is glassy and crystal clear, 28
degrees, no wind, and the only noise to be heard is the scream of the reel
as the fish makes another long run and the giggling of the two gibberers on board. Graz catches the biggest fish but it is a great day anyway... We only keep three fish but that still amounts to about 8 meals-worth for two. The remains are fed to the local pelicans.





But without a doubt the highlite of the week is the $2 glass of tawny port served in a coke glass at the weekly darts night. It was a good as you can imagine.

later,
brad and graz

ps. if you feel like it please write to us, grazgarrett@hotmail.com or bradreeson@gmail.com

Aye, Karumba.

Greetings,
That will do us for Cairns, even though the caravan park is very nice (Graz loves the ensuite bathroom next to our van) and we head west for the gulf. This road takes us up to the Atherton tableland which is quite stunning country, rolling hills, green fields, cows, you get the idea. Graz has found another part of Australia that she wants to retire to. Chicks. We bush camp that night at about half way to the gulf, for a cracking evening of beer, bbq and loud music in the middle of nowhere. I loved it, and just quietly I think she did a little bit too.

Just in case you might think that you would like to keep a cute little baby croc as a pet, Normanton helpfully has erected a statue of an 8.6m grown up crocodile, which is unique on this trip for being a life size replica, not 'big'. I suppose an actual 10m banana would be cool until it went black and squishy, and an actual 40ft prawn might take a couple of blokes to peel, but the monster croc is the one you wouldn't want to be near in real life. Incidentally, we chat to a lady who tells us that there is a slightly smaller version (about 8m) living up the river at the moment. Let's see Steve Irwin try and stick his thumb up that things bum. Crikey indeed.

The gulf country is pretty featureless so Karumba and the ocean are a welcome site, as is the excellent pub right on the beach. This would be home for the next week, Karumba not the pub, no wait, that's not true is it.


The ever present south-east winds are giving everybody grief, and our first fishing trip is a pretty dismal affair, meeting a couple of pelicans on a sand island would be the highlight. Graz thinks they are cute until one of them tries to eat the other one's head. The only thing to do is consult the old blokes back at the van park (we are again the youngest people in town by a considerable margin) for fishin' advice. Too cold, too windy, tide's wrong, not like this normally, shoulda been here last week, etc. We wait a few days for the tide to come good and head out early with every one else from the area -I count 60 tinnies out fishing. However the wind starts to pick up, as do the waves until collectively everybody decides enough is enough and we all turn around and head back to the safety of the boat ramp. It was like a geriatric army storming the beach.


A few days pass and the wind does not ease up so we decide to jump on a charter boat for an afternoons fishing, which turns out great. The boat is big enough to not be bothered by the wind and waves, and we finally catch some decent fish, mostly blue salmon. Returning to the van park I don't walk the usual walk of shame straight to our van, but instead I triumphantly but casually stroll to the fish cleaning table. I'm a big boy now. The fish is excellent, and we have enough for about 4 meals.

We also bump into a bunch of old blokes (naturally) travelling across Australia in Chamberlain tractors, like some sort of redneck Wacky Races, minus Penelope Pitstop.




A few more days of unrelenting wind and that does us for Karumba. We back-track to the east to spend a few days by Lake Tinnaroo, but the weather has turned cold and rainy so we don't get out for a fish. Nice spot 'though. If we are going to sit around doing nothing we may as well do it somewhere warmer so we head to the coast, Tully Heads. We have a loose rendezvous here with one of Graz's friends parents (we are the youngest again), but they are not here yet. We do however meet up with some of their friends, and have some pleasant evenings playing bocce and talking crap with old people. We are affectionately referred to as "the kids".

There is fishing to be done in Tully, and our first quick trip yields a few reasonable fish.
The next day proves to be more eventful, Graz hooks up to a sickle fish among other things. One of the other things turns out to be a big mud crab which she has brought to the side of the boat. Lots of yelling and carry-on ensue. I put down my rod and reach for the net -if you know what happens next please don't spoil it for everyone else- and net the crab, just as my rod is dragged over the side of the boat and disappears up the river. Damn. I don't know what I am more annoyed about, the lost gear or the lost fish.

later,
Brad and Graz.

Daintree

Hello again,
we wander the stretch of road between the Daintree River ferry and Cape Tribulation before settling on a newish camp ground right on the beach at Cape Trib as we locals call it. It is all very pleasant, especially after I locate and remove the Weipa cane toad that had stowed away under our bed, and had been the cause of us getting less sleep than usual. Regarding sleeping, it has been the biggest problem of our trip. We are a bit squashed in the van and it is a constant source of aggravation between us. Graz has to go I am afraid, which is a shame because she keeps the place clean and lets me touch her boobs.
Cape Trib(ulation) and the Daintree area seems to have marketed itself particularly well to zee germans and french, as they are thick on the ground. It is a long way to come just to look at some trees, crazy foreigners. There is nice creek here that flows to the beach that supposedly has a couple a crocs and a few wiley barra. I manage to hook up one of the fish but drop it pretty quickly. Worst fisherman ever.
North of Cape Trib is the Bloomfield track to Cooktown, which with the right weather conditions would be a pretty full on 4-wheel-drive experience, but at the moment it is a quite pleasant climb through the rainforest with a couple of river crossings and lots of nice scenery. The uhf radio is alive with chatter though, with travelling 4x4 groups earnestly warning each other about potholes and such. Tools. Obligatory beer at the Lions Den hotel then Cooktown, and the untold luxury of a regular bed. We had left the van back at the campground and enjoyed a crappy motel room far more than we should have. Returning the next day the weather through the rainforest is not so great, but as they say, that is problem with rainforest- rain, and forest. Leaving the Cape trib campground I overhear the leader of a group of caravanners casually remark to the campround owner that they are going to the tip (of cape york) and does he know if it is a tar road? They are in for a very long, dusty, corrugated surprise.
Daintree Village would be home for the next 5 days, a pretty little town that that has a nice river and a quiet campground and bugger all else. Once again the fishing is slow, with everybody complaining about the cold water keeping the fish dormant. Shoulda been here last week...Following the common theme though, the weather really is pretty nice, so even though we don't catch much it is still good. Graz adds Archer fish to the list, and I thoroughly enjoy a couple of hours walking a pristine sandflat chasing shy whiting and flattys. We see more crocs (she is starting to tolerate them), plenty of birds including an admittedly pretty impressive Jabiru catching more fish than me and get bitten by plenty of mozzies and sandflies. I even get to watch the rugby on saturday night, damn allblecks. If we don't leave now we may end up staying in Daintree for a couple of years so we pack up and hit the road to Cairns for a bit of car maintenance and restocking (and internet, hence these two updates in quick succession) before we head to the Gulf. The fishing is supposed to be good there at the moment...
later,brad & graz

ps. if people are silly enough to leave their bikini photos on public internet computers who am I argue?

Weipa

Greetings,
It has been a while since we spoke, sorry about that, the internet is pretty new up at Cape York and updates haven't been easy to organise.

We pick up our story driving through the town of Glenella, which is good but not as good as Markella. Leaving Cairns we head for Port Douglas for a rendevous with the Arve clan who are holidaying at their villa. A lovely lunch of crab and queenfish in very pleasant surroundings - I drag Graz away from the Mirage before she gets any fancy ideas about not wanting to live in a feral caravan for a year. Just to fully rid her of thoughts of luxury we stop the for the night at Mossman caravan park (the extra 's' is extremely important) which turns out to be pretty much full of what the french call 'Trailer Trash'. She cannot wait to leave and vows never to return.
The road winds its way up away from the coast to Mount Malloy, and I am reminded of the last time I was here on a dirt bike when our friend Keels had such a difficult time on the winding tar road. Wuss. Lakeland is the end of the sealed road, but we are pretty happy to find the dirt road is indeed in quite good shape, although these things are always subjective. Steady gentle rainfall is keeping the dust levels down and a lot of work is being down on the Peninsular Development Road after it took a beating from a couple of cyclones over summer. Musgrave is our camp for the night.
We arrive in Weipa after an uneventful days drive, a few slow corrugated sections punctuating what is otherwise a dirt freeway. I grandly give Graz the tour of the town (having been here before) which takes about 3 minutes. The camp ground at Weipa is quite pleasant really, even if it does have more than its quota of wankers in residence. Our favourite is the lone skinny middle aged bloke who cranks up the country music every evening for everybody's enjoyment. I come to the conclusion that country music is like The Wiggles for rednecks, they just can't help themselves, and vow to kill John Williamson at the next opportunity.
What about the fishing I hear you ask. Slow is the short answer. The weather is actually pretty damn nice but it is too cold for good fishing according to everybody you speak to. Combine this with some weird tides and a constant breeze pushing up a good chop and things aren't much fun in our little tinny. Graz catches the first fish of the trip, a mighty bream. Bream is pretty much the only species that is thriving at the moment, but we do manage to add catfish, black-tip shark and estuary cod the list of captures. Overall it has been pretty dissapointing but the weather is nice, and we have seen plenty of crocs (she hates them), a decent size shark (she hates them too), a sea-snake (she really hates them), and a pod of dolphins (she loves them).

We drag ourselves from Weipa after about a week and half of taking it easy. In truth we could have just stayed here for months, but the fishing would have improved at the expense of the weather so off we go. The road is a bit more beat up and a lot more dusty but still ok. We bush camp in the middle of you-know-where, before continuing on to tar roads and tourists.
later,brad and graz.