Marty Magic Travel

A cheerful voice announces that it is 6:30 A.M. and I am quickly upstairs for the first breakfast. I down a cup of coffee and eat some yogurt and fruit. We will be served a hot breakfast later, after our first morning dive. At 7:00 A.M. we are all on the dive deck and Mossy explain the logistics of our Cod Hole dive. I have seen the photos of the giant Potato Cod online and I am looking forward to meeting them eye to eye. My advanced dive classes will start this afternoon and until then I am Mossy’s dive buddy. I swim behind him around large coral stacks, richly encrusted with thousands of species of pristine coral and teeming with life. I feel extremely privileged to be having this fish eye view of this underwater wonderland but it is a visual overload and I can’t absorb or comprehend all that I am seeing. We reach an open sandy bottom area where several large Potato Cod are “hanging” out. They are not as enormous as I expected; but they are wonderful, weighing several hundred pounds each, spotted and with grumpy personable faces.

After a full hot breakfast we are ready for our second dive of the day. This dive is also at the Cod Hole, but this time Mossy will feed the cod and we are instructed to swim in conga line fashion, one diver after the other, until we reach the site. When we reach the site we will sit in a large circle on the sandy bottom and wait for Mossy. So as not to excite the cod prematurely, he will come a few minutes later with the large metal box containing the fish food. Mossy will not be my dive buddy on this dive; and in retrospect, regrettably, I really didn’t have a dive buddy since we were all to swim in a continuous line, following one another and to stay together in the circle. On this dive, I again have difficulty submerging and by the time I manage to get below the surface most of the divers are well ahead of me. I struggle to catch up but continue to have difficulty adjusting my buoyancy and fall further behind. I feel panicky and my accelerated breathing makes me especially buoyant and I continue to rise towards the surface. Just when I am certain that I will have to abort the dive, a diver swims up behind me, grabs my hand and pulls me back down. I am relieved and grateful to see that it is John and he guides me into the circle of divers waiting on the sandy bottom. John holds my hand tightly and the woman on my other side grasps my other hand. It is challenging to stay kneeling in one position, made all the more difficult since both of my hands are constrained and I feel like an unbalanced buoyant top. We have been cautioned not to wave our fingers around, lest the cod or the snapper take a bite of our extremities.

When Mossy swims into the center of the circle, the Potato Cod gather excitedly. They know that food is inside the box. Mossy reaches in, pulls out a tidbit of food and releases a morsel in front of each one of us. The enormous cod come within inches of each of our masks to swallow the food, so we have a remarkable, fish eye view of these amazing fish. I wonder how old these huge fish are; how many years it has taken them to grow to these proportions? I will think twice before ordering fish and chips, and only when I am certain that the fishing is sustainable.

We have another elaborate buffet lunch and afterwards, Lozza pulls me aside to discuss the dives that I must complete for my advanced certification. As amazing as the Cod feed was, I remember the panicky feelings I had, left behind on our conga line swim. I am almost in tears and want to forego my advanced dive certification but she is patient and encouraging and ultimately, I am too embarrassed to call it off. I visualize three days from now, still being alive and having completed the certification and I imagine that John will be proud of me. Before I know it, we are suiting up again and I take the dreaded giant step off the back of the boat and submerge, to learn buoyancy control. Lozza teaches me how to regulate my buoyancy simply by inhaling and exhaling. 60 feet below surface, she has me swimming through hula hoops with breath control. When sign language fails, we communicate via a small white board and I soon grasp the techniques necessary to keep myself at at consistent depth.

The 4th dive of the day is to learn navigation via the compass. I am not confident that I can preform these skills on dry ground, in bright light and with reading glasses; but I somehow manage to swim 10 meters in one direction, set my compass and return to the same spot. Again, using the compass she has me swim 10 meters, adjust 90 degrees, and repeat this until I have navigated a square and have returned to my starting point. I suspect that she cut me a little slack, but I pass and she cheers me on!

Diving is exhausting. Simply suiting up with all the cumbersome equipment is exercise enough and I have literally been swimming through hoops today. We must complete one more dive today, a night dive, and I am not looking forward to it. Lozza informs me that I must stay below for 20 minutes and preform some simple tasks. I agree, but request that we surface after the 20 minutes. I expect the dive to be frightening but flood lights from the boat illuminate a vast area over the rear of the boat. We descend via the mooring line with our torches aglow. Since my buoyancy dive class, I feel that I have turned a corner and I have much more confidence and a better sense of my equipment. I am surprised at all that I can see and quickly adjust to the magic of the night. There are animals out tonight that are not out during the day. Lozza shines her light into crevices; illuminating unusual creatures at every turn. Earlier today, I was overwhelmed by the visual intensity of the reef; but at night, one can focus on each crevice individually. We see eels, scorpion fish, giant clams and sleeping white tipped reef sharks. After 20 minutes, Lozza leads me back to the mooring line and we ascend. In retrospect, it was the most magical of dives and I wish that I had stayed below until my air was depleted. John ascends 20 minutes later with tales of mystery, imagination and carnage. The night dive was also his favorite and he tells me that wherever he directed his torch, an otherwise camouflaged fish would become a target of prey.

I have completed 5 dives today and I feel empowered and exhausted. Except for the family with the two daughters, most everyone is at dinner tonight and over their sea sickness. One of the daughters was so ill and dehydrated that the family was motored to Lizard Island in the afternoon and flown back to Cairns. Dinner is incredible; and I don’t think that my perception is only due to my exertion. We dine on Alaskan salmon, curried rice noodles and bock choy. I am grateful that the fish on tonights menu is not cod.

The Spirit of Freedom van picks us up at our hotel promptly at 11:05 A.M. It is a short drive to the Cairns dock where we board the Spirit of Freedom dive boat. The boat is lovely; 122 feet long, beautifully maintained and accommodates up to 24 passengers in 11 cabins. We have a brief orientation and meet the 11 crew members onboard; all with specific duties to make our three night dive experience pleasant and rewarding. We meet our fellow passengers, half of whom are Japanese and speak little English. Also among the passengers is one family with two teen age girls, age 17 and 19. John immediately introduces himself to the girls and although they are somewhat shy, I have no doubt that John will win them over by the end of the trip. John and I are in separate state rooms, each of us sharing a quad room. I bunk with 2 of the Japanese woman, the third Japanese woman apparently unable to make the cruise. John shares a room with three other men; one Canadian, one Japanese and one from the Netherlands.

A gourmet buffet lunch is served as we motor north towards our first dive site. Lunch is an array of cold salads, a huge platter of plump shrimp and a hot chicken curry with rice. All is delicious, but I refrain from overeating since the ocean is a bit rough and I know that I have two dives ahead. I have committed to taking my advanced dive certification on this trip. It has been nearly two years since I earned my PADI certification and I have not had the opportunity to dive since. My rational is that by taking the advanced certification, I will get personal attention and feel more secure during the dives. Lozza is my instructor and after lunch we go over the dive manual, discuss the upcoming dives and she assigns me reading and homework. Lozza is a pretty and dynamic woman in her mid 30’s and I like her immediately. Over the next several days, she will patiently instruct, encourage and push me through the certification process. Thank you Lozza!

By 3:30 P.M. we arrive at our first dive site and “Mossy” heads the orientation on the dive deck. I surmise that he is in his mid 30’s; witty, personable and commanding. We are each assigned a bench station where we will store our gear and behind which our tanks and B.C.D.’s are secured. John and I are renting most of our equipment and it is on this first test dive that our equipment is assigned, wet suits fitted, weight belts adjusted, etc. Once everyones equipment is assigned and sorted, we suit up for our first dive. The equipment is cumbersome, the tank extremely heavy and I am very anxious. I maneuver carefully down the rear steps of the boat, put my regulator into my mouth, hold my mask in place and take the dreaded long step off the back of boat. All goes relatives well; air flows through my BCD as promised and my mask doesn’t fog or leak, but submerging is problematic and I have difficultly deflating my BCD and getting below the surface. Mossy is both John’s and my dive buddy and once I am below the surface, I relax and I swim happily along side of Mossy, secure it the thought that should something go awry, he will be able to assist me. John is completely comfortable in this wonderland of lush coral and brilliant fish. There will be a second dive at this same spot at 6:00 P.M. John tells me that he doesn’t want to be my dive buddy and I agree whole heartedly. I want him to be buddies with an experienced diver and not be dependent on me for his safety. John goes on the 6:00 P.M. dive and I take a hot shower and read over my dive manuel. It is nearly dark when he surfaces and I am waiting anxiously on deck when John finishes his second dive.

As soon as everyone is onboard; and there is a strict protocol to insure that no one is left behind in “open water,” the boat pulls up anchor and begins motoring north. We will motor all night and the majority of our dives will be at the edge of the ribbon reef, off shore of Lizard Island. The seas are a little rocky and several of the guests are looking green. The two girls have disappeared below and we learn that the older girl is very sea sick. Mossy passes around sea sick tablets, encouraging those still standing to take them. John and I are not usually prone to sea sickness, but we split a precautionary two tablet dose and enjoy our dinner. Thick and tender steaks, mashed potatoes and salad are on the menu. I am a little disappointed that only a third of the passengers are well enough to eat dinner tonight. John would have enjoyed playing card games with the girls, but many of the passengers are sick in their cabins or filling the bio degradable paper bags with vomit and chumming the fish at the back of the boat.

After nearly two weeks of winter weather, we are thrilled with the balmy weather in Cairns. John literally dances down the steps from the plane and across the blacktop of the Cairns airport. The air is warm and humid and promises tropical adventure. It is only a $20 taxi ride from the airport to the Discovery Cairns Hotel and we are deposited at our hotel within minutes. Our reservations are in order and we quickly put our luggage into our room and head into town. We have shed our sweaters and jackets and with a spring in our steps, walk the 15 minutes to the heart of the tourist district. A gigantic fig tree graces the center square, it’s roots climbing up and over the walled cement enclosure that presumably confines it. Couples sit upon the wall, enjoying the magic of the evening. It is 8:30 on a Sunday evening, but the shops in this area are still open and we poke into several and purchase an appliqued, cut out, butterfly blouse to take back for Alisha. We choose an outdoor cafe for dinner; invitingly ambient and adjacent to the art museum. We dine on their raised outdoor patio, enjoying excellent food. At 9:00 P.M. the shops start to close and the parade of people diminishes as we finish our late night dinner.

We’ve had an intense several days so a leisurely morning is most welcome. At 9:00 A.M. I tiptoe down to the dining room and find it closing, but am able to scrounge a cup of coffee and I sit and write. I wake John at 11:00 A.M. and we arrange for a taxi to take us to the Desert Park Museum; a $20 taxi ride as well as a $20 entrance fee. There are no local busses and we must wait an hour for our taxi.

We have heard good things about the Desert Park Museum, but are disappointed. We stroll the designated walkways, dutifully reading the information signage with as much enthusiasm as we can muster. The kangaroos are even lethargic, hopping away only when John steps a little too close for their comfort. We watch the park’s 20 minute information film, a very amateuristic overview that leaves us more confused than informed. To give some credit, the nocturnal house is well presented and we spend an hour viewing the dimly illuminated habitats in search of spiniflex mice and other illusive and endangered rodents. Their reptile exhibit is within the nocturnal house and included in their collection is a habitat housing 3 thorny devil lizards. We are happy to have a second, more leisurely opportunity to watch these amazing camouflaged armored lizards. We end our visit at the bird show, watching birds of prey soar in from the sidelines, snatching tidbits of meat mid air.

This is the weekend for the annual Alice Spring Show, which is equivalent to a county fair. We catch a return shuttle from the Desert Park Museum and request to be dropped off at the “Show.” It is exactly 5:00 P.M. when we enter the gates and we are delighted that admission is free after five. The exhibit halls are beginning to close but we have time to spend 30 minutes wandering through local exhibits of photography, needlework, and baking. Another hall houses the vendors and nonprofit booths. John and I both halt at a table where a magazine is open to a marine iguana article. The title of the article is “Imps of Darkness.” It takes us a moment to grasp that all the pamphlets on this table are about Creationism and we gather up a pile of brochures answering questions about natural selection, continental drift and “How did Noah fit all the animals onto his arc?” We read these later and find them well written, thought provoking and somewhat amusing.

The exhibit halls close and John and I wander outside to the carnival. There is an excited energy in the air as dusk descends and the bright lights of the amusement rides flash and twirl. This is a big weekend for the locals of Alice Springs and the young people are out in droves. There are groups of both white and Aboriginal youths, and the air is thick with the aroma of sweat mingled with cotton candy, corn dogs and popcorn. One can quickly loose $5.00 at any number of arcade games and John plays one ball toss. John and I are an oddity, but John’s self confidence allows him to boogie freely to the music while a group of young Aborigines children stand by watching shyly.

An hour later, on our way out, we pass a boxing arena. A garish canvass tent is erected and a weather worn hawker stands on a wooden platform above the tent’s doorway, loud speaker in hand, beckoning the public to challenge the fighters. Also standing upon the sagging wooden platform and wearing skimpy satin yellow shorts and capes are the fighters, strutting and flexing their muscles and doing their best not to shiver in the chill of the night. John wants to watch the fights and although it may not be my thing; I understand that he boxes at home and that this is important to him. It is long past dark and very cold and the hawker is doing an excellent job of gathering a crowd. I wish for the selection of challengers to be quick, but this is a carnival and the hyped up selection takes over an hour. 6 fighters are matched with 6 local challengers and the tent doors open. There is a frenzy of excitement and John and I go with the flow of bodies, pay our $15.00 each and find a place to watch, standing in the red dirt, at the edge of the ring. There are slightly over 100 spectators and all of us get a prime viewing position. There are 6 fights, 3 rounds each and John is enthusiastic and cheers the contenders on. The next hour passes slowly for me; but no one is seriously hurt or terribly humiliated and after the show, we exit the tent and head off to find a taxi back to our hotel. John pleads with me, asking to stay for the second fight and be a challenger, but I insist that we return to town. The traffic exiting the show grounds is bumper to bumper and there are no taxis in sight. I eventually spot one pulling out of a parking space and negotiate a flat rate. As it turns out, our taxi driver was off duty, also watching the fight, so our fare is an unexpected bonus for him. He drops us at the Bo Jangles Saloon, a colorful eating establishment and pub. I treat John to a steak and I order the less expensive vegetarian lasagna; not the best choice in a Town like Alice. John’s steak is excellent the wood burning stove, adjacent to our table, takes the chill off of me.

We have another leisurely day to spend in Alice Springs; more time than we wish for. Our flight to Cairns is not until 5:30 P.M. After checking out of the hotel we walk the 15 minutes into town and enjoy flat white coffees and egg, cheese and bacon sandwiches at the Red Dog Café. It is Sunday and their version of a craft market stretches several blocks along the main promenade. Knitted pot holders, commercial jewelry, soaps, scarves and the scarce, artist made product, are for sale. The day is overcast with a slight drizzle and I am happy that I don’t have a booth here. I believe that if I did, I might blow the shoppers out of the water, but John tells me I would just get robbed. I know that when I travel, I am usually disappointed in the lack of quality souvenirs to purchase. There are virtually no good quality sterling silver or gold, kangaroo, camel, platypus or thorny devil charms for sale in the entire town. One sees a smattering of poorly designed and hollow charms, but nothing that a well heeled traveler would want to take home as a memento. I have no desire to live in Alice Springs, but I believe that I could fill a much needed niche here.

With time to kill, John and I walk into a market in search of lemon myrtle spice. It takes two markets to locate it, but we leave with a small, $9.00 tin in our possession. It’s now time to catch the shuttle to the airport for our 5:30 P.M. flight to Cairns.

We have the luxury of sleeping in until 7:00. The coffee is passable and while the men eat cold cereal and toast; Elizabeth wraps leftover chicken and veggies in foil and places the packets in the fire. She and I enjoy these leftovers for breakfast and are well fortified for our climb up through Watarrka, (Kings Canyon.)

The King Canyon trek is 7 kilometers and the initial climb is termed “heart attack hill.” I make the climb easily with a slow and steady pace. The rain has cleared during the night and the morning is sunny and mild. We hike through the towering, red rock canyon walls, pass through gaps and crevices and traverse open plateaus. The vistas are breathtaking, as is the hike, demanding many up’s and down’s along the way. K7After reaching the top plateau, we descend a wooden stairway, several hundred meters down into a canyon oasis lush with palms and a flowing creek. Following the boardwalk path, we reach a large swimming hole, rest upon the rocks and enjoy a snack of chocolate chip biscuits. John edges crab like around the sheer ledge of the swimming hole, sure footed and testing his climbing skills. I consider the possibility that he may slip and fall into the icy water; but know that this would only result in his embarrassment, not in injury, and I watch with pride and amusement.

Our out back adventure ends tonight and we have over 350 kilometers left to travel. Before starting the long drive back to Alice Springs, we stop for lunch and “fire up the Barbie.” “Mystery bags” and hamburgers are on this noon’s menu. I pass on the “mystery bags,” (sausages,) opting for an open faced cheese-burger piled high with grilled onions, peppers, and tomatoes.

Much of the trip back is in 4 wheel drive, along a well graded dirt road, a wide scar of red slicing through the sparse landscape. Australian oak trees and coolabah thrive in this flat, dry land. These oak trees look nothing like our California oaks; the young ones, narrow and torpedo shaped, have roots that shoot straight down many meters in search of ground water. Having reached water, the trees grow round in maturity. Low grasses and shrubs blanket the burnt orange landscape, the brush a varying pallet of dusty green, teal and olive. Tony spots a flock of black cockatoos in the distance and maneuvers our land cruiser and trailer up and over the raised dirt shoulder, navigating around the brush for us to get a closer look. The flock is absorbed in foraging for seeds on the ground and we get quite close. When they take flight, to the safety of a coolabahs grove, their tail feathers flair and we glimpse a brilliant splash of red.

Our final stop is at Jim’s place, another cattle station where we have the dubious honor of meeting, ________, the singing dingo. ______ is now in old, bad tempered and retired. We are warned to keep our distance. With our trip close to an end, I ask Elizabeth and David the appropriate amount to tip our guide, Tony. They inform me that tipping is not expected or appropriate and that he might feel embarrassed. If I wish to give him anything, they suggest a bottle of wine or small gift. I have brought a few sterling silver charms along with me and I discretely pull out a bearded dragon on a chain and tuck it in my pocket.

We arrive back at our Alice Springs hotel at 6:30 P.M. John and I are the first to be dropped at our hotel, All Season’s Oasis’. Our two bags are quickly off loaded and we say our awkward goodbyes. I thank Tony and hand him the silver bearded dragon charm. He looks a little confused, but I explain that I have made it and his features soften and he gives me a hug.

Tony wakes us before dawn so that we will have time to break camp and drive to the overlook where we hope to watch the sunrise over Kata Tijuta. It is freezing cold and he has started a welcome fire, but with the time constraint, breakfast consists of only cold cereal and bad coffee. Sugar and milk do little to camouflage the bitter taste, but I am at least awake enough to roll up my swag. We drive 30 minutes to the overlook positioned half way between Uluru (Ayers Rock) and Kata Tijuta, (the Olgas) and follow a boardwalk path uphill to a vista point to await the sunrise. Dawn creeps in quietly and the two immense rocks change colors gradually; a spectacular sight of morphing colors and velvety shadows; purple, salmon, pink, orange and red. Visually satiated, we drive to the base of Kata Tijuta for a 7 kilometer hike through the “Valley of the Winds.” Except for the chilling cold and harsh winds in exposed gaps, this morning’s hike is my favorite. The sky is clear of clouds, adding to the chill factor, but the morning sunlight dramatizes the rock formations. John is layered in a capalini, a T-shirt, a flannel and his windproof jacket but is uncomfortably cold in spite of the exertion required for the hike. Two hours into the climb we stop at a spectacular vista and Tony dolls out granola bars and oranges, a welcome mid-morning snack. It is only now that we spot one other group of hikers. Tony has us on a strict schedule, which keeps us away from the throngs of other hikers. The hike takes us 3 ½ hours and we enjoy private breathtaking vistas.

It is 11:30 A.M. when we return to the parking area, now filled with tour busses and 4 wheel drive vehicles. We retrace our drive back through the Uluru resort area on route to tonight’s campsite. Elizabeth and I both wish for a real cup of coffee and while Tony fills the Land Cruiser with petro, we buy flat white coffees and snacks at the Uluru resort center. An hour later, we stop at Curtin Springs station and break for a picnic lunch. We team together and again make sandwiches and I wander the back sections of this immense station, admiring the farm machinery and a few loaded road trains. A road train is a long chain of flat cars, loaded and hitched together and powered by a Semi-Truck engine; an Australian phenomena.

By late afternoon, cloud bursts dampen the landscape and the sky has grown ominously grey. Tonight’s campsite will be near Kings Canyon National Park but we need more fire wood before we make camp. Tony veers off the paved road, in search of Mulga wood. He finds a suitable grove and John morphs into the Karate Kid, uprooting rotting trees with one kick and jumping on the downed branches to break them into manageable pieces. Tony loads the wood atop the trailer with cigarette in hand.

We arrive at a campground around 5:00 P.M. and all take showers before our planned drive out to our private campsite. It has rained heavily here and the ground is sodden and muddy.

After our showers, Tony expresses concern about the weather; that if it continues to rain during the night, we might not be able to drive out in the morning. Elizabeth is also concerned about the rain and Tony informs us that we may choose to stay in one of the permanent tents belonging to Connections Tour. Somewhat disappointed, but agreeable to the consensus, I agree to this solution. Connections has an empty site on the edge of the campground consisting of a half dozen small tents surrounding a screened in cooking and dining tent. John and I choose one small tent, equipped with cots and mattresses and unroll our sleeping bags. Tony starts a fire which is soon blazing and we team together to cut vegetables to duplicate last night’s vegetable stew. Tony busies himself preparing the chicken with lemon myrtle, his bottle of port close by to assist him in his culinary magic. All is cooked in cast iron pots nestled in the coals of the fire. Dinner is exceptional again; the lemon myrtle spices in the chicken a unique flavor that we all marvel at. Tony has planned a second course and after dinner, he holds a kangaroo tail over the fire, burning the hair off the hide. He then wraps the tail in foil and buries it in the coals. I surmise that he is cooking this delicacy for the benefit of John and John is politely determined to stay awake until the tail is cooked. I turn in before the sampling, but can hear their muffled talk from the confines of my tent. John comes to bed an hour later, not entirely impressed with the flavor and texture of kangaroo tail; extremely oily and sinewy.

The room has no alarm and I have no watch but my inner clock wakes me 15 minutes before our wake up call. We packed our gear last night and are quickly showered and dressed and waiting outside at 5:45 A.M. It is still dark with a lean bearded man, wearing a typical outback Aussie hat arrives to pick us up. I am delighted that our guide fits my stereotypical image. His face is weathered and his very long beard fades from brown to grey. He loads our one suitcase in a trailer towed behind a Toyota land cruiser and we hop onboard; John in the front seat beside Tony and I in the back seat beside David and Elizabeth; the only others on our tour. They are from Newcastle and have been “partners” for some years but just got married in Alice Springs. He is a doctor and she is a nurse and they prove to be congenial and interesting travel companions.

It is not yet dawn and we have over 500 kilometers to drive to Ayres Rock. David, Elizabeth and I chat and John naps. Our first stop is about 100 kilometers into our drive, at a camel station where we drink bad coffee and eat breakfast sandwiches. A cold dawn is just breaking and we are the first tourists to arrive at this station. Until today, I didn’t know that camels were a part of Australia’s history and are still a necessity within the Australian outback. There are literally hundreds of thousands of camels in the outback and many feral herds. Beautiful, doe eyed camels, stretch their necks through the steel paddock rails and John has his first camel experience. He too is charmed by their soft muzzles and huge inquisitive eyes and tells me that he thought that all camels were nasty tempered and spit? There are several colts in the paddock and we pat and nuzzle their soft necks and heads. Unlike the battle scarred camels in Egypt, these camels are well tended and with gentle demeanors. For $6.00 one can ride a camel and I buy two tickets and John and I circle the ring atop a camel. The camel has a double seated saddle with metal grips both front and back and we mount and are thrust forcefully forward and jerked back as our camel rises. I am delighted that John is delighted with his first camel encounter.

Our second stop is at the Mt. Ebenezer Roadhouse where we stretch our legs, drink instant coffee and use the toilet. It is obvious that Tony is a heavy smoker by his nicotine stained teeth and fingers and he takes these opportunities to smoke. We are 300 kilometers into our trip and he talks about the country as we drive. He is anxious to please and well informed about history and the environment, although his thick Aussie accent makes him difficult to understand. A hundred kilometers further on we stop at another cattle station and Tony encourages us to buy wine or beer for our two nights camping in the bush. It will be our only opportunity and he recommends the “F__ing Good Port” and purchases two bottles for himself. I buy one bottle of red wine and one of white wine from the minimal selection behind the counter, regretting that I did not purchase wine in town, certain that the prices are higher at this remote station.

Our next foray is to gather firewood for tonight’s campfire and Tony veers off the paved road and we bump along in 4 wheel drive through scrubby landscape until we come to an area with Mulga trees. John is our ”gatherer” and happily rises to the challenge, running full speed at the scraggly trees, karate kicking and uprooting them and jumping on the downed branches and breaking them into manageable sizes. Tony loads the wood atop the trailer, wrapping it securely in a canvass with one hand, while smoking a cigarette in the other.

We admire Mt. Atila from our moving vehicle, a mesa table land and the first significant rock formation of our trip. Unfortunately, the day is overcast and cold and although the rocks glow a deep red, I know that our visual experience is not as stunning as it might be if it were sunny. We enter Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park at noon and have a picnic lunch within the campground. Our trailer has two fold up sides and our food is stored in bins and coolers within. We team together to cut tomatoes and cucumbers and spread bread with butter and mustard, layering pastrami in between. Tony opens a can of pickled beets and we add them to our sandwich. Not my usual fare, but quite delicious.

Before taking a base walk or climbing the rock of Uluru, we are expected to visit the Aboriginal Cultural Center. My expectations are low, but I am very impressed with the sensitive presentation of cultural information. The center is architecturally striking, and we spiral through chambers of terracotta walls with a wooden roof; an open gap between roof and walls. Continuous word and picture graphs scroll along the top of the wall and recorded indigenous chants resonate throughout. The various creation stories are depicted along the way. We spend over an hour here but I grow anxious, wanting to walk around the rock and not just read about it. The Aborigines discourage tourists from climbing Uluru, but John wants very much to make the climb. David, Elizabeth and I want to walk the base. At 3:15 P.M. We drop John at the base of the climb and watch a steady stream of tourists ascending the immense, 875 meter high rock. I am justifiably worried, but know that John must do this. Tony tells us that soon the rock will be closed to all climbing and although Tony also discourages climbing, he understands John’s desire to do so. The first several hundred meters are without a chain grip and John sprints up this section, supplied with a large bottle of water and our last remaining nutrition bar stuffed in his backpack. We watch and I take photos from afar as John ascends the rock, sillouetted against the grey sky, just one in a stream of ants making this climb. Several hundred meters from the base, a chain grip rail is secured along the route to assist the climbers in their ascent. David, Elizabeth, Tony and I take a base walk partially around this immense rock. There are sections of the rock that have spiritual significance to the Aborigines and the path skirts widely out from these areas and photography is forbidden. The enormity of the rock is impressive and I take many photos, but each photo is a mere pixel of the vast scene. There are several cordoned off sections protecting Aboriginal rock paintings but the highlight of the hike is when we enter a gap between the rocks and come to a natural spring. A gully cuts down from cliff above and the rocks are stained with minerals deposited from eons of rainfall. We spend a serene few minutes in this magical spot.

Two hours later, we drive back around to the parking area below the climb and I am relieved to spot John trotting towards us. He got back down just a few minutes earlier and is excited to tell us about it. He sprinted up to the top, walked along the crest and rested for 30 minutes, reflecting on the vistas and talking to another young man his age. The descent was the hardest and when the two boys reached the base and the other teen goes to meet up with his father, the father is wearing a Tucson Gem and Mineral shirt; their conversations evolves from there.

We drive to a vista platform where all tours, large and small, go to watch the sunset over Uluru. There are several huge busloads, many with barbeques raging and all with glasses of champagne. These are the single day tours out of Alice Springs; 1000 kilometers round trip, returning to Alice Springs after midnight. The 5 of us walk up to the far view point; Tony opens the champagne and we stand and wait for the sunset; which is sadly disappointing on this overcast evening.

We drive to our first camp site and Tony drives around the campground giving us a lay of the site and pointing out toilets and showers. Surrounding these permanent facilities are many permanent tent campsites, all with each tour companies name on its designated area. I am disappointed until Tony drives off a ways into the bush. I have paid extra to NOT have a tent and to not be a part of a large group. Out of sight and ear shot from the permanent tent camps is the Way Out Back Safari’s campsite. It consists of a modest but permanent covered eating area, two tables and small outdoor kitchen with running water. The night is extremely cold and the first item on the agenda is to light the campfire. Tony and John soon have it blazing and Tony hauls out our swags for our bedding. They are tightly rolled canvass swags and we sit on them as we gather around the fire. We need coals to cook our dinner and as the fire burns, Tony chops root vegetables, putting them in a cast iron pot and nestling the pot in the glowing coals of the campfire. He is well into his bottle of port, but this seems to make him function more efficiently and he soon has water boiling in another pot and kangaroo meat sauce simmering. We enjoy a marvelous kangaroo pasta dinner accompanied by the most delicious roasted vegetables that I have ever eaten.

After dinner Tony demonstrates how to make up our swag beds. A swag is a heavy canvass covering protecting a modest foam mattress. We unroll our swags and slip freshly laundered sheets over the mattress. We are each provided with a sleeping bag, smelling sweetly of laundry detergent and we place these inside our canvass swags. We have enjoyed a full day and a lovely dinner and the fire is burning low. We crawl into our sleeping bags, zip our swags tightly around us and fall asleep beside fire. I wake several hours later and gaze up at a full moon and a star filled sky.

We catch a 6:30 A.M shuttle to airport for our flight from Melbourne to Alice Springs. Except for a 30 minute departure delay, our flight is uneventful and we land at 11:30 A.M. A shuttle bus waits outside the unassuming airport and I purchase two round trip tickets for $38; $20 less than the posted rate, even when I tell the aging, stocky and weathered driver that John is 17. She cackles and says that he looks more like 14 unless I just want to pay more? When possible, we sit in the front of a bus but I soon regret our seating choice as this woman chatters continuously, suggesting sightseeing excursions for us during our stay. Her demeanor sours somewhat when I tell her that we have already booked a three day “Way Out Back” camping safari. She tells me that husband leads adventure tours and I surmise that chatting up travelers on the shuttle into town is a good way of snaring clients for their business.

Our All Season’s Oasis Hotel is quite adequate except that the main pool is empty for the winter. As it turns out it will be too cold to want to swim, but I am somewhat disappointed. We drop our luggage into the room and walk the 15 minutes into town. Todd Street is the main drag with a number of outdoor cafes, several pubs, many tourist shops and a few fine art galleries showcasing Aboriginal art. There are three main blocks along the outdoor promenade and we choose the Red Dog Café for lunch. John orders a kangaroo burger and a coke and I order a quiche with salad; $34.00. His Kangaroo burger is quite good; probably a better choice for this territory than the quiche.

We stroll through the shops and galleries and I am quite impressed with much of the Aboriginal painting. The price tags are certainly impressive and the range of talent is diverse. One can buy a small un-stretched tourist quality painting for under $100, or spend anywhere between $6000 – 48,000 on some larger works by famous Aboriginal artists. We head towards the Reptile Center, passing through a park where small groups of Aborigines sit, picnicking. Most of the women are quite overweight with barrel shaped bodies and spindly legs. They wear knee length, colorful print rayon skirts and miss-matched blouses and sweaters. The men are also barrel chested with very thin legs. Their facial features are unique; flat featured, with very round cheeks and chins.

We visit the Reptile Center, a privately owned establishment with a good collection of Australian snakes and lizards. John and I immediately fall in love with the small, Thorny Devil Lizard. They are between 5”-6” long, armored with a camouflage pattern of orange, brown, black and sand; a coloring that presumably makes them invisible to predators in most desert habitats. They have a false head at the back of their necks and walk with slow contemplative steps. John reaches into the open topped enclosure and picks one up gently.

Returning to our hotel, I wash clothes and we eat an unmemorable dinner in the hotel restaurant. We will be picked up at 5:50 A.M. tomorrow morning for our three day camping safari to Ayres Rock and vicinity.

We leave our hotel at 7:45 and stop at a small non-descript café for coffee and egg and bacon sandwiches to go. I use the internet for 15 minutes, add a bottle of water to our bill and pay $28.00. The morning sun is low and blinding as I retrace our path back to Melbourne. Near Geelong, we take the turn off to Bells Beach, a famous surfing spot and watch the surfers for a few minutes.

I am determined to find the Serendip nature reserve that I have read about, but that none of the day tours include in their itineraries. I know that it is located near Lara, in the Little River area and I follow signs to Lara and ask directions at a gas station. The mechanic draws me a careful map and we are soon pulling into the reserve. It is indeed a reserve and not a zoo and there is no entrance fee. We follow the paths into a wetland area with multitudes of ducks and water birds. A “hide” is constructed over the lake so that visitors can observe without detection. We take a two kilometer trail across a dry river following a herd of emus. The kangaroos and wallabies are “caged,” but in a very large enclosure that we are allowed to enter to observe them more closely. The reserve is not exciting; but it is free and we are especially delighted with our emu encounter.

Melbourne is less than an hour away and after filling our rental car with gas, John navigates me back to the rental car return. We get seriously lost in a distant suburb of Melbourne, but eventually find our way back to the center of town; drop our luggage off at the Citigate Hotel and return the car undamaged. We have lost an hour in our unintended detour and grab hamburgers at the nearby McDonalds and catch a taxi to the Melbourne aquarium. The aquarium is built along the promenade of the river in the heart of down town. The cityscape along the waterfront is beautiful in the afternoon light, glass and steel sky scrapers reflected in the water and suspension bridges spanning the river. John and I are aquarium connoisseurs and although this one is decent, it is not great. The exhibits are a little dark and tired; although there are some wonderfully endearing fish on display. Naturally, the angler fish is one of my favorite and I take photos of this grumpy guy wedged down in a corner of his tank. We admire the impossibly ugly stone fish and the remarkable weedy and leafy sea horses. There is an excellent penguin exhibit and we end our visit watching both king penguins and a smaller breed of very playful and curious penguins cavort on the snow of their enclosure. The smaller penguins swim, miniature torpedoes in their pool that has a viewing section so that we may watch their underwater maneuvers.

John needs a new backpack and we pick one up on the walk back to our hotel. We freshen up a bit and walk out again in search of dinner. Directly across from our hotel is the main train station and we cross through it and over a bridge to a lovely waterfront shopping and eating mall. There are many upscale restaurants and John chooses an elegant Japanese one offering a theatre menu pris fix. We are under dressed, but are graciously seated by the window overlooking the sparkling river. Our two meals are excellent and our bill is just under $60.00 It is the best meal we have eaten.

I always rise first, shower quickly and then wake John. By 7:30 A.M. we are driving towards Port Campbell in search of coffee and breakfast. The morning dawn is just breaking and I tell John to keep an eye out for wild life. We spot several kangaroos foraging for food along the roadside and then a large “mob” of them off in a distant field. We are giddy with delight and watch as they take off, bounding across the hillside. They stop at the crest of the hill, silhouetted against the ever brightening sky, watching us.

This Great Ocean Road drops down to the coast and the morning light casts a magical light on the golden cliffs and the indigo water. We arrive at the Twelve Apostle’s national park and walk along the scenic boardwalk taking photos of the freestanding rock stacks only partially lit by the morning sun. The coastline is breathtakingly beautiful and the day promises to be mostly sunny. We continue onto Port Campbell and are happy when we find an open breakfast café. The coffee is strong and the food good.

We continue the scenic drive up the coast towards Peterborough. The morning light is magical and we stop at most of the turn outs and hike short loops and pathways to viewpoints; Grotto, London Bridge, Arch Loch and Ard Gorge. I am most grateful for my new jacket and John and I bundle tightly for these chilly and windswept walks.

Grotto is as one might expect; a cave and archway hollowed away in the red sandy cliffs. Last night’s rain has coated slippery pathway with orange-red muck and it oozes into the cleats of John’s hiking boots and colors the hems of our jeans. A wooden staircase descends to the grotto and a roarshock reflection in a still pool of water, doubles our pleasure. Beyond the grotto, the surf swirls and crashes.

London Bridge is a rather new landmark, the bridge section of this tremendous arch having recently fallen into the sea, stranding a number of hikers out on the island archway. They were eventually rescued and gratefully, no one was on the connecting bridge way when it collapsed. London Bridge is reminiscent of our 4 mile beach in Santa Cruz, only more monumental. Some years down the line, this arch will collapse, adding two more “Apostles” to the Great Ocean Road.

Our final stop is at Ard Gorge and we have many loop trails to choose from. We walk the upper windswept loop with vast view expanses of the sea beyond; the boggy terrain alongside the pathway a varied pallet of green, purple and orange foliage. A trail descends some distance to the beach beyond and John chooses that fork. It is a long hike but well worth the time and effort. Instead of simply admiring the striking golden cliffs and crashing ocean; the pathway deposits us upon the cliffs just above the beach. This section of the coastline is described as “Shipwreck Coast” and for good reason. The powerful surf is frightening and I call to John to stay back from the edges of the rocks, but my voice is drowned out by the fury of the waves as he scurries over the rocks and disappears from sight. I walk along the low rock cliff, safely back from the pounding surf, saying a quiet prayer, that John will take caution and reappear shortly. I am alone and awed by the beauty and power of this impressive coastline.

We must turn back for our return drive to Melbourne but we make a second stop at the 12 Apostles to view the rock stacks in full light. I search for gas in Lavers Hill and fill my near empty tank and we eat a mediocre hamburger at a roadside bar. I am told that we will find koalas if we take the turn off onto Light House Road and drive to the tip of Cape Otway. It is 2:30 P.M. when we reach the turn off and we drive slowly down a well maintained gravel road through a lush eucalyptus forests. It is 12 kilometers to the light house but as we get near I spot a grove of eucalyptus with sparse foliage. I was instructed to look for this and I pull over and turn off the engine. Across the road and high up in a tree, I see a telltale bump resting in a forked branch. We are delighted when the bump morphs into a leaf munching koala. I point out another bump in the next tree over. Not to be outdone, John takes up the search and we walk deep into the grove and are rewarded by multitudes of koalas. Soon the sightings seem common place and we return to our car satisfied. As I pull out, a branch hangs low across the road, weighted with yet another koala. I pull over again and take close up and photos of this delightful marsupial. We drive down to the lighthouse, but the entry fee is $15.00 each and lighthouses are not our priority so we retrace our route through the eucalyptus groves and continue onto the Great Ocean Road.

20 minutes further on, we stop at Maites Rest and take the boardwalk loop trail through an ancient rain forest, lush with giant tree ferns, gnarled tree roots and hanging vines. We feel very much alone in this primordial forest in the fading light.

Our final stop is at Kennett River where I expect to find platypus at dusk, but we have been misinformed. Instead, I buy bird seed and we drive up another gravel road through eucalyptus forest trying to attract the parrots. We hear them, but are unable to entice them to fly down and eat our offerings of seed. Disappointed, we drive the final 45 minutes in the dark to Lorne in search of a room for the night. I inquire at the Lorne Resort on the outskirts fringe of town; and they offer me a severely discounted room with spa and view for $135. We don’t need luxuries tonight and I check on rates at two other motels down the street and opt for the Comfort Inn, just above the Lorne resort for $100. (All rates within Australia include both taxes and service.)The room is spacious with a picture window view into the black of the night. I make up the folding couch with fresh linens for John and we walk 3 minutes down the hill to enjoy dinner at the stylish bistro of the resort. John has fish and chips and I enjoy a warm chicken and feta salad.