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.