God what *is* this place?? It's so *grey*, and filthy - gum and litter everywhere. And motorways - lanes of traffic all packed together and going 5mph (I'm back on miles again - I still don't know how fast 100kph is, I just know it was the speed limit on the aussie highways so 120kph was ok too). And when the hell is the sun going to come out? It's 8am and the sun should be blazing down by now. It's doubly upsetting because my body is assuming its late afternoon and this grim grey sky isn't doing anything to help reset my rhythms. And my place is a mess (at least compared to the neatly laundered hotel rooms I've been flitting to and from). In short - *wah* boo hoo sniff sob. I've made a terrible mistake. At least before this trip I could tolerate the mundanity of my existence because I knew no better - but now I do *waaah* <cracks open a tinnie - hell it's a perfectly acceptable time to start drinking in Queensland>

A fair amount of musical chairs happened on the Singapore to Manchester flight. I started out jammed next to an oldish plummy couple, but they only sat down for a short while then buggered off to some free seats elsewhere, perhaps cos I smell. Then after take off a lady flying from Auckland sat down on the opposite side of the three to me and said she'd just flown non-stop from Auckland and was sick with sleep deprivation, did I mind if she came and splayed out in the seats next to me? She was pleasant and had an interesting take on Queensland, kinda familiar but not, and kept hinting the New Zealand was an even bigger backwater than hinterland Oz (makes me shudder to think about it). She was going to a funeral and faced having to drive from Manchester to Brighton when she landed. Given all that, I figured she deserved a nap and I promised to stop anyone waking her for food, she didn't care about meals anymore.

Of course I thought it would be a happy relationship until she bedded down and it rapidly became apparent she was going to have her head practically in my lap the entire time and fidgit around a lot. As I desperately needed sleep too this wasn't what I needed so finally I moved seats as well, to the end of a three-er with a nice quiet Singaporian bloke who was clearly going to leave me alone the entire trip, and not invade my space. I told the kiwi woman I was doing it for her behalf to give her the full three chairs to sleep on, but I was lying through my teeth and really just ensuring my own sleep time. Either way I got away with it, and spent most of the trip having fevered dreams about turbulence, interdispered with ocassional bouts of wakefulness where I watched 'Crash' (disturbing film - v.good) and Kath and Kim. Immigation finally worked for me not against me at least cos I got to go through the EU fast channel, though the baggage handling was painfully slow. And then a quick whizz home in a taxi, just skimming rush hour, and here am I now at home, very dazed and confused.

Peace though. Stillness. Just the gentle creaks of my central heating (because I'm obviously freezing cold). And the ability to unpack my bag and not have to pack it again the next day...though I sort of don't want to unpack it yet because it'll break the spell.

I'm clearly feeling a bit emotional at the moment. I feel a bit like that Replicant at the end of Bladerunner. "I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. Bioluminescent algae on the Great Barrier reef and Platypus gambling in the Eungella forests. All those moments will be lost in time like tears in rain. Time ... to die". It's sad to think it's all over now and will only survive in my poor pickled braincells until the next particularly intense Stella bender...Don't worry, I'm not going to top myself though. I might be a bit glum for a while of course and it's going to take a big effort to stay cheerful today. I think I'll have to go into town or something to keep my mind of stuff.

But on the plus side - What a holiday!! I look back on some of the stuff I managed to do and just grin. No regrets (even the dud bits were fascinating and make good tales), bloody glad I did it and I reckon doing this has opened up a whole new array of possibities for me. I also reckon that if anyone else out there has a dream to see a place and do something, they should blummin' well go out and do it and stop prevaricating!

Now I guess all I should do is simply get back into reality, knuckle under, and get saving for the next grand adventure. And the next. And the next.

This is ejk's oz adventure - tired, chilly, but triumphant - signing off.

*blip*

22:30 Singapore time, 15:30 UK time, 00:30 Brisbane and bodyclock time. Real time journey duration:- 9 hours.

Well nothing really eventful happened on my last day. I had a quick walk up and down the main shopping streets, bought a shed load of aussie crap (because I knew I didn't have to cart it around for very long) and taxied to the airport chatting to a guy who was originally born in Sussex but had been in Oz for 43 years now and was Ozzie through and through, having conveniently 'forgot' his immigrant status.

Checkin shenanigans - painfully familiar. Flight:- usual - perhaps a bit bumpy as we started to fly over sea. And now I'm a seasoned traveller, the 7 and a half hour flight to Singapore was nothing, it breezed by, especially as I'd insisted on an aisle seat so I could get up and come and go as I pleased. The movie selection is a bit poor this time though (unless you like Batman movies) - good motivation to sleep through this next leg of the journey if I possibly can. My poor 'go to sleep at 9pm and get up at 5am' Queensland style bodyclock is struggling seriously though, after all it's way past it's bedtime. The Manchester flight leaves at 23:50 Singapore time and I'm trying to stay awake by sitting under the air conditioning fans and drinking lots of coke. If I wind up falling asleep and getting stranded in Singapore though, I *won't* be pleased...

15 or so real time hours before I'm home in bed...

For once I was lateish up. I felt all snorkelled out, and had given all my wetsuit hire stuff back to the marine centre anyhow, so the point was just to have a slow calm breakfast and pack up at my own rate - my rucksack contents had sort of exploded despite the best efforts of the room cleaner who came in every day to mop the floor of sandy footprints and fold everything up, but it was also quite nice to repack everything from scratch again, a bit like spring cleaning, only for rucksacks.

The deal was that close to check-out time, you tagged your bag and left it outside your room, and then it rematerialised some hours later on Gladstone jetty at the end of your boat trip back. This I did, and was met by my neighbour/ex-snorkel buddy doing the same. It turns out he was also leaving today and very glum. He was going on to Sydney, then LA, then Montana where aparently it'll just be the start of the skiing season. He reckoned the LA stopover might just be enough to help him aclimatise, but it was going to be tough.

I went to reception to complete my check out and found out that the moniless existence had indeed resulted in the racking up of a vast room bill (though not as terrifying as some people's, especially the families who had been here a week). Needless to say, once I had paid my bills and handed back my metaphorical key, suddenly a second class citizen, 'Oh are you charging to your room madam? Oh. No. Paying *cash*, I see'. It disheartened me sufficiently to not want to buy anthing else on the island, and I survived on free drinking water, the buffet lunch which I was owed as part of my room fee, and blagging myself on a free bird spotting lecture to pass the time until the launch was due to leave.

The boat was late of course. I realised this when I went down to the jetty at the alloted 2pm rendevous and there was no boat at the jetty, and no boat to be seen in a full 180 degree scan of the horizon either. So unless it was sneaking up from the back of the island (which seemed unlikely) it was at least 40mins away.

I marched back to reception to see what was going on. Apparently a latecoming Qantas flight had held up the incoming launch by about an hour. This meant that their previous claim that the launch met flights out of Gladdie from 16:20 onwards was now a lie, many would miss their flights, and my own 17:15 flight looked in jeapordy too. The mob (and there was at least 60 of us) threatened to grow riotous for a while until reception grovelled to Qantas and got them to hold up some connecting flights for us. As the Brisbane flight I was catching was the same one I caught before that did Mackay/Rockie/Gladdie first, I was confident they could hold that up and only upset about 3 passengers, but some people were flying on to Sydney and Perth and it looked like Qantas were going to delay those flights too. Presumably the entire intricate web of scheduled flights subsequently crumbled around all of this - and all for a tinpot launch from a tiny island in the middle of nowhere - impressed!

Sure enough, the boat was about an hour late - it was a medium sized seacat thing and it wasn't there to be scenic, only to shuttle people to and from the island. Because of this, most of us either slept or read during the 2 hour journey, and were only jerked awake by the captain announcing on the tannoy that we were now entering Gladstone harbour.

Gladstone was, just as I thought, not the sort of place you'd want to visit as a tourist. When going out in the chopper he'd flown us over a vast vast coal burning power station surrounded by acres of coal heaps, and next door to it a huge line of moored tankers that shipped the coal from elsewhere. There was also a large aluminum smelt and yet more huge ships shifting things to and from. When we came back in on the boat the huge long breakwater was dotted with large tankers and vehicles for moving stuff and okay, the finally end marina where we moored was reasonable pretty but...I think I did right avoiding overnighting there.

Once we had disembarked there was a mad dash for the airport. About 30 of us had flights to catch, and the 16:20 Brisbane lot (including Montana man and his missus) were being put on the later flight, my flight, which had been sitting on the tarmac waiting for us for 20 minutes. We all scrambled to get our luggage on the coach that was transferring us (and it was a real free for all with people rugby tackling one another out of the way and standing on fallen bodies etc). Then we had a similar scrum trying to get checked in, though Gladdie airport didn't bother about silly little things like passport checks or security screenings so we shouldn't have worried. Mind you, me and my Montana friends were only going as far as Brissie. Some of the Sydney/Perth people were looking very anxious though - I was sitting next to one and he spent the whole flight either with his head in his hands, or rocking everso slightly backwards and forwards with his arms folded. He drank a lot of wine too. He reminded me of how I might of been when I thought my Cairns/Townsville connection was going wrong though he was very rude to push past me when they opened the front doors and shove everyone out of the way to get out. I guess he got his flight though cos they were paging someone by name from out flight when we got into the building.

Brisbane airport. Loud, noisy, full of stressed people all trying to get some place to the detriment of everyone else - not a place for the old or frail. I said goodbye to Montana guy and his missus (who had now been sitting next to me since the launch set off some hours ago) and took his card should I ever be in Montana and in need of a place to stay. After that, we parted and it was time for me to find my hotel.

...The taxi driver to the hotel turned out to work in IT for his day job and did taxis at night cos he 'had no life', bless him. Aussie born, he was surprised that Aus wasn't taking immigrant IT workers anymore and reckoned that was about to turn around again. I doubted he'd ever left the city and visited rural Oz though so perhaps his viewpoint was a little skewed. Still can't see what use a sugar cane farmer would have with a product manager...

We were both very surprised to see what hotel I was staying at - it was a big posh one in the city centre and here was I a greasy dirty backpacker with the dust of many deserts and beaches on my boots. I mean there was even a guy on the front step to take my luggage from the taxi (though you could tell he thought I didn't belong and did the service as sniffily as he could). I checked in behind a lass in a wedding dress and a guy in a suit, trying not to bring the tone down too much. Reception just thought it was great though and loved my tales of swags and campervans. They figured, just like the taxi driver, that if it was my last night in oz, why not live it in style? And I did with a huge room service meal, bottle of wine, and pay per view movie - all chiefly to distract me from the fact that the dream really was over now, and stop me from getting depressed.

For the first time in a very long time, I managed to stay up until midnight...I'm-a comin' home.

I've decided this place isn't The Prisoner, it's Westworld. All the people and animals are actually robots and the reason they gas us at night is so they can switch off all the machines and give them routine maintenance. The trick is to look at the palms of the hands...none of the staff have any fingerprints. The whole operation is controlled from a bunker in the heart of the island and one day one of the noddy terns is going to malfunction and go on a rampage and kill all the guests...

Anyhoo. I woke up early again just as the men in the scientists coats were putting all the machines back in place ready for switching on. I had one last try at getting my butt on the 9am dive boat but still couldn't face it and sat on Shark beach for a while getting my head together. I was a right as rain for the 11am dive though, and I was trusted to buddy up and dive without close supervision though it was a bit of a toughie cos currents kept bashing us against the coral (which of course was the last thing we wanted). I had another (slightly posher) underwater camera to keep me amused though it was bloody difficult to take pictures when we were being pushed around so much.

I was back in time for a sluice down, a quick cocktail, a leisurely lunch, and a quick sit down on my veranda. The noddy's had got used to me by now and parked down by my feet, their wings spread out and mouths gaping to try and stay cool. Of course why black birds choose to sit in hot white sand in full sun in the first place I don't know - one of them is going to melt a circuit and go on the rampage, you see.

Before I knew it, it was time for the 3pm snorkel boat - and this was a really fun dive because the tide had just turned and large (ish) waves were slapping at the reef edge carrying you along. My so called snorkel buddy fucked off immediately we hit the water but it just meant I could do my own thing so it wasn't so bad, and I made sure I stayed with the group. Finished off the film in my second camera and then said goodbye to all the GBR fishes. I must admit I clambered back on the boat with a bit of a lump in my throat (and a nasty rash on my inner thighs from the wet suit but the less said about that the better). I'm going to miss all these fish and watery shenanigans in land locked Manchester...

...Instead of simply drinking myself into a depressed stupour, after lunch I hooked up to a star gazing lecture on the helipad. It did seem that the southern hemisphere shared most of the stars we did, and some of it went a bit over my head but I was impressed with our lecturers laser pointer - it was clearly a bigger more powerful one than you can usually buy and it was like him pointing a big neon stick up at the sky.

After that? Well I intended to stay up and read for a while but the nerve gas they pumped in the room took effect pretty early and I woke up again on the top of the bed at 3am with a book over my face as usual...

It feels a bit like being in an episode of The Prisoner, staying on this island. Surely the reason I conked out so early must have been due to the fact I was gassed or they drugged me, plus whenever you order something you go by your room number so you quickly get used to calling yourself 'Number 6' or 'Number 12'. And it's all just too *perfect*, y'know? When I got up at 6am this morning I caught people raking the beaches to make them look 'just so', picking up all the leaves and vulgar tidal detritus, and moving all the terns and gulls around until they looked artistic. I bet if I made a run for it right now, a big beachball would chase me down the sand...

Seriously though, hidden in the centre of the island is a whole bunch of chalets that aren't spoken about which are where the staff live - the silent people that move around in the shadows and at night looking after the desalination plant and boat repairs and electricity supplies and things. And of course there are an army of people who clean the chalets and stock the bar and cook in the restaurant...but the aim is for only a few select people to actually be visible during working hours - the clean people, the ones who serve you drinks and arrange your trips for you, the over healthy dive instructors and the token eccentric looking nature expert kept locked away in the research centre and only wheel out for the ocassional lecture. And all so a bunch of sweaty pink people wrapped in beach towels can mooch around all day drinking cocktails while their squalling brats can cut themselves on coral and be sick in the pool.

I was booked on a 9 am dive, and I was reminded just how unready I can feel to scuba when I've just got up, there is a cold breeze blowing off the ocean, the sea is crisp and chill, and my breakfast is still sitting undigested in my guts. I'm really going to have to give in and acknowledge that whatever future scuba I do, I'm going to have to skip morning dives, my poor weak constitution just isn't up to it.

It was a good dive though. It was a small group and I got paired up with a dive master who was obsessed with getting great photos and so ambled along at a nice steady pace. Got my perfunctary nosebleed of course, so it looks like my nasal capillaries still haven't hardened anything up yet, oh well.

At 11am, I went on a snorkel ride. Now the rig at Heron Island is that as all the good dive sites are just 15mins away at the reef edge, or maybe just the next reef next door (the Wisteria reef), the 9am diveboat theoretically gets you back in time for the 11am dive/snorkel boat. This assumes you're prepared to sprint to your room and back if you need a wee, and you're confident you can get your wet suit off quickly. As soon as the dive boat moored on the jetty, at least 3 divers sprinted off down the jetty, another couple close behind at a brisk walking pace. We did, indeed, all make it back to the boat on time but it certainly was a close run thing for one or two individuals. Yes I know you *can* wee in your wet suit, but when you're wearing dive boots, its just as likely to hang around inside or come out the top - still not a particularly nice prospect if you still have the option of a proper toilet available to you.

The snorkelling kicked arse - and in my humble opinion was just as good as the scuba plus you got a little longer with snorkelling (about an hour) and far less pratting around with tanks and weights and things. It was over 'The coral canyons', a reef edge site with lots of caves and arches and things where you got a lot of brightly coloured coral on the top and big interesting fish in the caves. Of course these days they are safety concious about everything and even insist that you snorkel in buddy pairs, but I got threesomed up with a nice benign pair who were quite happy pootling along behind me so it was all fine and dandy. We all got gently pushed along by the current too so it was actually very little effort all in, and the chief challenge was staying warm because you weren't generating heat by trying to propel yourself anywhere.

The snorkel boat got back in good time for a shower, quick light lunch, and (because it was low tide) a short 'reef walk'. You see, because Heron Island is a coral cay, it remains uniformally shallow for a good distance from the shore until the drop off. At high tide, that whole area round the island is perfect for great snorkelling, and at low tide you can walk all the way to the drop off in calf high water and poke at coral with sticks.

The Island activity centre has a whole rack of old trainers drying in the sun and at any time you can pick up a pair and set off walking on the reef (it was drilled into us that only enclosed shoes were allowed on the reef). They also provided you with glass bottomed buckets so you could look at stuff, and sticks so you could poke stuff...er...I mean steady yourself as you walk. (I'm ashamed to admit it was actually pretty dull in comparison to snorkel and scuba, though a novel experience to be that far out from the shore in only ankle deep water).

I had a quick sit down with beer before the final dive/snorkel boat of the day. As the snorkelling was better value for money I swapped my dive for a snorkel and also got myself one of those new fangled underwater disposable snap cameras and this time (despite being buddied with a very scatty German who kept trying to free dive and choke herself, or bang into me) I ambled along taking inane snaps of all the fishies. I have been assured that these snap cameras are actually crap unless you are right next to your subject, so we'll just have to see how it all turns out - maybe I've just got 27 pictures of blurry nonsense. Well actually I only came back with 20 pictures taken so just to finish off the day I had a quick snorkel over to 'The Protector', an old warship that had been dumped on the breakwater near the jetty to a: be a nesting ground for birds, b: be a landmark for the ships and c: be a good centre of snorkelling attention for the visitors. For 5 mins paddle from the beach it was damn good I have to admit and I rattled off the last few pictures trying to capture a reef shark that was nearby.

I must admit, I was buggered by the end of my day. I had a quick cocktail at the bar to chill out (and was muggered by a Rail for my pineapple slice and cherry while I was taking a photo), and then finished up with dinner, a bottle of white, and waking up at 3am on the top of the bed with a book over my face. Damn it, what do they put in the drinks round here?

My flight to Gladstone left at 9:20am, thus calculating backwards, that meant I had to leave Eungella around 6am and get up predawn.

God the drive back to Mackay was wierd. I finally got to see what the wierd mist was in the dawn light and yes, we really were above the cloud layer which descended in the night to envelope the top tip of the Eungella rainforest. Not only that though, but when I drove through the wierd Derbyshire-like patch there were sprinklers everywhere, it was like a well kept english lawn - this explained the incongruous lushness of the area.

And it just got wierder as I descended into the flat plain at the foot of the mountain - all the sugar plantations were swathed in a thick fog - it was like all the moisture from the mountain had dewed in the night and was now burning off again in the heat of the accelerated dawn. It added a bizarre tinge to the day with this great long roads disappearing off into increasingly thicker patches of mists and slow cane trucks and goods lorries breaking out of the mist in swirling clouds with their headlights on in the orange yellow half light. Quite atmospheric actually.

Just as most Queenslandians wake up with the dawn and go to bed at sunset, they all seem all of a rush to do all the utilitarian things in the cool of the morning with a view to packing up about 11am and (maybe) resuming work again around 3pm. Thus all along the Mackay/Eungella road at dawn (as this was sugar cane country) there were loads of cane trucks and tractors and pickups - all the sort of stuff you never see moving around later in the day (they're usually in the fields harvesting by then and the only trucks you see on the roads are the ones shifting beer). Also, there were dairy vans moving to and from the strange Derbyshire area. I can see now why Oz doesn't need IT immigrants, it is essentially rural. Albeit, a rural that we UK people don't usually think of, but like in Queensland at least is basically just sugar cane or bananas or beef/dairy and computers are of little consequence, the Internet even less so as vast swathes of the population are out of broadband/televison/mobile phone range. Geeks are incredibly priviledged in the UK. Or perhaps its just that the UK is a breeding ground for geeks whereas Oz just can't support them and they become surfer dudes instead.

I got to Mackay in good time and refilled the car like a dutiful rentalee (boy did that thing guzzle diesel in comparison to the camper). Mackay airport was a bustle of activity - not. I got there and there was no one to give my car keys back to (I posted them in a drop box) and no-one at the checkin desks (they only bothered checking in 20mins before the flight) and a security check area that was full of bored aussies in yellow jackets lounging around and they looked surprised when I arrived and actually seemed to want my bag scanned.

It turns out my flight was a real locals flight. It stopped at Rockie (Rockhampton - 50mins flight), Gladdie (Gladstone - a further 15 mins flight) and Brissie (Brisbane - probable a further 40mins) and basically just shuttled businessmen from one place to another. Indeed the guy next to me lived in Rockie and had just finished business in Mackay (equivelant of a Manchester/London thing with an enforced overnight cos of flight times). It wasn't exactly a tinpot plane, it was still 4 seats across unlike the Lizard Island Cesna for instance, but the multistop gave it the feel of a bus service and sure enough our light snack was no frills and practically everyone got off at Rockie, leaving about 5 of us continuing on, and no-one got on to join the continuing flight. I was the only person who got off, 15 later, in Gladdie. I paused to try and send a quick email before being cut off on Heron Island, but it was so obvious that I was the one who'd ordered the helicopter flight in that deserted airport that the woman at the helicopter desk actually walked over to get me before I could finish.

I had booked a helicopter transfer to Heron Island. Partly this was because there was no way I could catch the 10am launch without overnighting in Gladdie which I simply wasn't prepared to do (cos I got the impression Gladdie was about as dull as Townsville and Mackay). Partly it was because I had never been in a helicopter before and it sounded like a cool/strange/scary thing to do.

The helicopter transfer service was run by a small charter company similar to the cesnas that shuttled people for the Spirit of Freedom trip. They had their own little office in Gladdie airport and once you had 'checked in' you were ushered to a little lounge where you were shown a safety video (and the safety procedures for a helicopter are radically different from those of a plane, as are the flying procedures - different safety belt, you have to wear a earmuff/headset, you aren't allowed anything that's loose etc). This done, a nice checkin girl escorted you to a tiny private chopper just outside, strapped you in, put on your headgear, introduced you to the pilot, then got the hell away as quickly as possible while he started the engine.

Helicopters are great! I once tried to fly one on a flight sim computer game so obviously I know all about them, but basically the dynamics are wierd and basically you have a number of warring forces - you got the blades spinning round at the top and you can tilt these to lessen or greaten the vertical lift, you got the rotor at the back which is essentially the rudder, you got the angle of the overal craft (e.g if angle yourself left, you'll travel left, and you've got the cockpit's overall desire to spin round and round madly which can be controlled (torque?). Practical upshot: when you've flown a bit you know planes take off by running sideways for a while until (it feels like) the wind catches under the wings and they take off. Helicopters (disturbingly) just, like, go vertically upwards, from a standstill, and it's very odd - like being in an out of control lift. Once they have risen to a set height and want to go in a particular direction, the whole thing simply tips wildly in that chosen direction, sort of in the way planes yaw from side to side though helicopters lean frontwards to go frontways and slantwards to go slantways, the whole thing is just crazy.

The helicopter does about the same speed as a cesna and flies about the same height, thus the meat of the journey felt very like The Spirit's scenic flight back to Cairns and you only knew you were in a chopper when it changed direction, oh and that it was so damn noisy.

When we landed (elevator down 30 floors sensation) someone came to greet me and I got to do the crouchy down sprint away from the chopper thing you see in movies a lot - that made me feel big. What made me feel bigger was that my luggage sort of evaporated and rematerialised in my room a bit later, and best of all I had got a complimentary upgrade from scum class studio room in the back of beyond to 'Reef Suite' with views of the sea, a stones throw from all the facilities.

I had paid for a luxury island resort and that was what I was getting. It was a keyless, moneyless society and you could leave all your doors and windows open (turned out to be useful later when you were stumbling in from a scuba/snorkel session) and charge everything to your room number (dangerous in the extreme). Noddy terns were everywhere, the trees were heavy with them, on the path in front of you was black with them, they stared in the window at you when you were having a pee and they didn't move when you poked them or nudged them with your foot. I got the impression that before the intervention of man, this had been a mass nesting place for the Noddy's and they were still somewhat resentful of our presence. The other prominent bird life was little Rail bird that skooted along the ground like a wader on Speed and would attempt to get in your room if you left your patio doors open. It appeared to have filled the rat/pigeon niche of the island. And the entire island was fully of raucous squeaks and cackles and clicks.

...I immediately went to the marine centre and tried to get myself on a dive trip (full) and snorkel trip (full) and eventually had to settle for simply being fitted for all my scuba/snorkel equipment and going for a trip in a glass bottomed boat around Heron Bommie.

Heron Bommie semi-submersible gave me a good preview of things to come. On the downside (as warned by Lonely Planet) despite claiming world class diving, a good deal of coral had got killed by silt from the new jetty. On the plus side, the island was surrounded by reef drop off full of lots of little nooks and crannies and some of them were lovely, teeming with life.

The tour lasted about an hour and was sufficiently motivating for me to immediately run back to my room, inject myself into my wetsuit gear (it was a very tight fit and the dive shop actually issued me with a special bit of old plastic bag to wrap around my foot and help get it on), and run to the beach.

I picked a lightweight spot right next to the bar/pool and was surprised to find that even in that unpromising spot there were large clams, parrot fish and sweetlips swimming about plus a reasonable amount of hard and soft coral. I managed to sneak a good hours worth of snorkelling in before dark and was nicely showered and clean again in time for dinner and a quick cocktail.

Dinner was ok - it's 'Perfectly sized portions so you could enjoy all three courses' were a bit on the tidgy size but the bottle of wine side order bulked things up and I was pleasantly tiddly by the end and wandered up to the top end of the island with a pleased grin on my face. The North beach was utterly empty and utterly dark, and I lay on the sand under a brilliantly clear sky, cursing again the fact that I didn't know any constelations apart from the big dipper.

What a strange place, by turns horrifyingly artificial and stunningly beautiful. The resort is, well, a resort with its pool and bar and complimentary shower caps - the closedness of the community is a bit stifling for me. You still get a sense of the island though too, which is what I was after.

Conked out v.early as usual. Big day tomorrow.

I got up pre-dawn, a now normal experience. I couldn't face much, e.g.showers and coffee seemed way too complicated for that time of day so I basically just threw my clothes on and stumbled out towards the platypus viewing areas, camera clutched in hand.

I was right, nearly no other bugger was insane enough to get up this early apart from one saddo with a thick bird identification book and large binoculars, and a foreign couple who'd I'd seen last night and looked like the sort who got up everyday at 5am, probably for a healthy jog and some museli.

We immedately formed a platty spotting comradery. Two of us staked out one platform and two another and when the first platty was spotted a scout rushed over and fetched the others. In the end we had two plattys working the upper end of the river feet below our feet and completely undeterred by our presence. It was great, not least because I finally got a photo that didn't look like a hurried snapshot of the Loch Ness Monster. We had a quality hour of platty activity before the lightweights started to arrive, and I had the pleasure of directing the italian guy with the big camera to the best spot for the day with a supercilious wink. Serves him right for turning up for the show an hour late.

I packed up in time for swift breakfast at the Retreat - the bridge was getting too crowded anyway. I'd ordered a packed lunch too, and took this away with me as a scooted off to Finch Hatton Gorge for the next planned activity in my packed day.

There is one road/highway that leads to (and stops at) Eungella/Broken River. A semi sealed road turns off from this road at the bottom of the mountain and leads to Finch Hatton - nominally a township (because there are 'School bus' signs down the track) but the deeper you get into the place (and nearer to the Finch Hatton Gorge National park) the more the road degrades until you really start understanding why everyone in rural Oz has a 4x4 or a beat up truck.

To get to the 'flying fox rainforest experience' in Finch Hatton I had to negociate 10km of part sealed road (dead easy, its like a dual carriageway only its just the strip down the middle thats sealed and the rest is dirt so you drive like its a single track road and if you meet an oncoming vehicle you have to pass one another with half your car on the dirt - Max speed 80kph 2WD), 10km of unsealed road (like driving on a dirt road max speed 50kph at risk to your windscreen and paintwork, 4WD useful), 5 creek crossings (like fords only with the potential of crocs and muddy potholed entry/exits - max speed 15kph 4WD sensible), two cart tracks plus gates (max speed 30kph 4WD) and one insane incline, only short but practically vertical, dirt track, and potholed and dusty (max speed 5kph 4WD essential). I nearly thought the car wasn't going to make it and I was going to upturn into a ditch but it pulled through and it was bloody good fun.

From the dirt-cattle track turn off, I'd been following faded 'Flying Fox' signs and as things progressed I became increasingly doubtful of the professionalism of the organisation. This doubt reached its pinnacle after I had struggled up the last hill only to find an overgrown carpark with a burnt out truck in it. There was one tiny little footpath leading off, and in a last effort to find these people I parked up the overheated car and walked down the path.

Finally I found the 'main office' (basically a crumbling shed full of climbing harnesses and things) and an additional search revealed a bunch of people just up the hill returning from their trip, plus supervisor.

Time for explanation. I had come to Eungella for two reasons: the platypuses and this place. A flying fox is a wire cable you whizz along in a harness - you know, one of those things rainforest researchers use to study the forest canopy. You sit in a sling, and you slide along a wire controlling your speed with a brake, or by pulling yourself along the wire with your hands on level bits. These guys offered the paying public to have a go on one of these rigs through a genuine bit of rainforest, and I must admit when I saw it in the Lonely Planet guide, I knew I had to do it no matter what.

It turns out that the rig was owned by an English couple who had bought a stretch of rainforest for $26k about 4 years ago and set up the cable there themselves. He was from Hull and clearly the climber, and she was from Yorkshire and the meet-and-greet person (with a toddler on a string). There was also a young aussie designed in the surfer dude mould and here was clearly the odd job guy.

As I said, they didn't have an office, just a ricketty shed at the bottom of the mountain (though they were in the process of building themselves an office just next door which looked like the half finished turret of a gothic castle). You got suited up in the shed and signed the 'I know it's dangerous' form. Then you waddled over in your climbing sling/nappy/harness to a 6ft high cable training area where you demonstrated to the Hull guy that that you weren't complelete clueless and a responsible individual really. Then all the staff walked you up the mountain (incl. toddler on a lead) and set you loose on the real thing.

Hull guy zipped down first on bad ass gear (a wooden swing carabina-ed to the cable and a piece of rubber he held against the wire with his hand as a brake), the our group were hitched up one by one by surfer dude and let down the wire to be greeted by Hull guy. There were actually two wires and Hull guy did the uncoupling and changeover at the intermediate platform while surfer dude did the inital hookup and Yorkshire lass kept all the waiting hopefuls amused with 'How was your holiday' chitchat. Only one person was allowed on the wire at a time, so as soon as they got to the intermediary platform the Hull guy walkie talkied to the surfer 'Clear for takeoff!' bless him. I hung around to go last cos I wanted to linger, and when everyone was set off but me the Yorkshire lass said to surfer dude 'I'll go back to the bottom now - do you think you're ok with the coupling procedure?' and that generated a whimper of horror in me and they had to admit that the lad had only been doing this 2 days. In the end the Yorkshire lass supervised the coupling before she left, just to reassure me, and then I felt bad about not trusting surfer dude so I tried to chat to make up, as I sat there dangling waiting for the takeoff clearance. I think he forgave me.

The wire was dead good. I've now been suspended above rainforest by cablecar, raised walkway, observation tower and zip wire and I saw different bits of the forest with each tour. With this one, it was a huge colony of fruit bats that had chosen to roost right around the wire so you could dangle at eye level with them, practically reach out and poke them with your finger. One had even recently given birth so you could see the baby fruitbat clutching on to mommy bat. When I got to the intemediate platform I asked Hull guy about it (trying not to look down as he uncoupled me and hooked me to the other wire) and he said that when they had first got the land there were no fruitbats but one year they decided to roost over the platform and actually it was a pain because it all got covered in bat shit which got really slippery when it rained. This year, thankfully, they had moved away a bit, but I still think it must have been a stroke of luck, those bats arriving.

When it was over I thanked the team heartily for a damn good experience. Yorkshire lass had been looking coverteously at my 4x4 and asked me how it was (I recommended it, but not the automatic version), and asked them to check later to see if it was upturned in the ditch beside that horrible slope and call the authorities as necessary. As it was, coming down the thing was fine.

Next up:- I attempted to take my lunch at Eungella dam by failed to find it, and ended up eating at a lookout point in Eungella 'village' (basically just a couple of cafes that were permanently shut), filling up at an unfriendly road house in Marian, and 4x4ing it back to Finch Hatton gorge to do the walk there. I also past the place I *nearly* stayed at, the tree house bush camp, and confirmed to myself that is was just a loud backpacker place and yes, the place WAS full of mozzies.

The gorge walk was pleasant and unchallenging, ascending theough the forest and ending in a little waterfall and swimming hole. The landscape, nerderly enough, was the spit of the LotR scene where Boromir tried to take the ring from Frod, with high trees and rocks that looked like ancie fall obilisqueses.

I met surfer dude from the flying fox rig on the way back to the car. It was nearly sunset by then and he asked me was the walk okay and how long. I guess not only had he just started his new job yesterday, but he'd also just moved here and was still exploring. So for him to (an Airlie beach kid) Eungella was one big adventure.

Back at camp I couldn't be bothered fighting with the platy twitchers and kinda knew nothing would better the morning sightings so I just enjoyed a lingering dinner instead with the possums (two adults and two babies came to the table this time), checked myself out ready for the early morning departure, and went to bed. What a day!