Western Australia

My first sample of ozzie lifestyle, was to begin in the remote city of Perth. My plane touched down at 3am on Wednesday morning and by the end of that day I had found myself a job, to replenish my much funds, which had become severely depleted during my few days in Singapore. After a couple of days partying in Perth, I headed bush to take up my new position as barmaid in the Wubin Hotel. Little did I know at the time, that Wubin pub, is the last watering hole for about 200kms in to the bush, and other than the pub, the only amenity in the town is a roadhouse which serves everyone headed north with fuel which is vital to their onward journey. The population of Wubin, was then a grand total of forty persons, (forty-one if you include me), however, the Wubin Hotel seemed to act as a magnet to the crowds and patrons would drive for two hours, just to get to the pub, (and another two to get home again after they were tanked up).

I met so many characters in that bar I don't know where to begin. Probably with rotten Ron, as he spent the most time inside the premises. Rotten Ron was aptly nicknamed, he has only one tooth and the most protruding beer-belly I have ever seen. He wears short shorts, from which his srcotum hangs out underneath, and a T-shirt (generally with a multitude of staining), which does not quite cover his large gut. Add to this his propensity for telling dirty jokes, with a dribbling accent which you cannot quite decipher, and the worst heaving laugh you have ever heard. That's Ron! I became quite proud of the way I could pretend to be listening to his jokes by following his lead and laughing after him. Then there was Clive and his two cronies, whose names I can't quite remember. Clive used to wear a stereotypical down under hat and hold up the bar every day with his mates, until their daily allowance, (meted out to them, by their Sheila's), was drunk. Clive and his misses, lived on a farm easily recognisable by the mechanical contraptions, resemblant of farming from the early 1900's and I'm told they slept on a bed in their barn, surrounded by their pigs, which they certainly smelt like.

The final characters which I must mention, were named Aro and Charlie, two brothers who ran a local emu farm. Aro and Charlie were of Norwegian origin, and seemed normal enough blokes, until they hit the spirits. Unfortunately, I was not aware of this until they collapsed in the bar one day. Aro, who was well known locally for his cartooning talents, was the first to slump off his barstool and lay slumped on the floor. Charlie, oblivious to his comatose brother, was still knocking back the tequilas and I left him to it when I finished my shift. The brothers had not, in my opinion, consumed enough alcohol, to warrant the condition they were in, however, I was lax to tell my boss about their state, less I get a tongue lashing for serving them too much bevvie. So off I went at the end of my shift, presuming all would be well when Aro woke up. I returned to the pub, (this time for a social visit), about two hours later, to witness both brothers being dragged out of the pub backwards, courtesy of my not so amiable boss, who then doused them in a bucket of cold water as they lay on the pavement. What I did not witness, but heard about later, was that my boss then drove round Aro's ute, left the engine running and packed the boys inside to ensure they commenced their hour long drive home. He did not want them outside the pub as, in W.A., landlords who serve their punters too many drinks are penalised. Fortunately, the brothers made it home safely, less fortunate for me, was the wrath of my psychotic boss which I had to suffer once more.

Aside from the obscure characters, from putting up with temper tantrums from the boss and his neurotic wife, I managed to have quite a laugh during my time in Wubin. Of course, this had nothing to do with the gallons of tap beer which I was generously permitted to consume, free of charge for the duration of my two months there. What was even better, was the premise that I was allowed to drink whilst on duty behind the bar and this helped me endure the patrons immensely. I was also very lucky to have fallen in with a good crowd of locals who arranged numerous activities for me. Initially I found myself in the middle of nowhere, being shown how to shoot a 22 and various other guns, at 3am in the morning. On another expedition I found myself on the back of a 600 srcambler, flying through bush tracks faster than I could focus my eyes, holding on for grim life. I was also given an aviation lesson in a two-seater plane used for crop spraying, and no, I was not the pilot when the plane was seen skimming over buildings, flipping back to front and doing loops. Most enjoyable of all, was the long days off, on which I used to accompany the gang to a nearby lake, where I would attempt to water-ski or wakeboard.

Water-skiing days began early, and even though it was winter, (if you can call 25oC winter!), it was the perfect time of year to ski, mainly because in summer, the lake dries up and there is a complete absence of water. We would head down to the lake first thing, armed with food for the barbie, cartons for the eskie and various watersport implements. If at first you don't succeed - try something else! For two months I persevered, trying to pull myself up on skis, enduring numerous injuries and swallowing copious amounts of the hypersaline lake water. For all that effort I once I managed to stand up on the skis for about three seconds. I did, however, redeem myself on the knee- board, the biscuits and of course the jet-ski, which used to give me great pleasure, hurtling around on the lake. Before we knew it the sun would start going down, the fire would be built up, and the nights merriment would begin. I'll give it to the bushies, they really do know how to party.

Another "interesting" experience I had, whilst working in Wubin, was my induction to the ways of the, "B & S Ball" - that's Batchelor and Spinster to you and me! We drove for a few hours to get to the venue in Northam, and were greeted by queues of traffic, anxious to enter the event. Ball-goers were dressed up to the nines in fancy gowns and suits, in order to attend the event, which was held in a large field! Everyone refused to explain the finer details of a B & S to me, and my questions were mostly silenced with a "wait and see!" reply. I didn't have to wait long as I pushed my way to the front of the three-thousand people cramming to get to the bar. "You're still dry," shouts one bloke to me, as he proceeds to throw the contents of his three cups of beer at me. I discovered then, that the idea of a B & S, is to drink as much alcohol as possible, whilst wearing as much of the drink as possible. This idea is facilitated by the fact that once you have purchased your ticket, (usually around $80), all the alcohol served is free, all night. Since then I have added Bundaberg Rum, to my list of "I shall never drink again" drinks. The drink fights go on for most of the night, there is a band and we were privileged enough to see some fireworks, (which are banned in W.A. due to the aridity of the country). In the morning, all appeared very different to the night before - gone are the pristine suits, replaced by ripped, cardboard-like shirts, stained and torn ball-gowns, and a few trashed cars, which had been unlucky enough not to escape the trauma's of the cutting up pad. The atmosphere was still jovial and people pitched in to tow out bogged vehicles and some jokers blocked the road exit, with a sign for Random Breast Testing - "Can we see some?" No chance!

The B & S, was my farewell to Wubin, and it was not long after that I continued my travels, heading round the coast of W.A. There are an unbelievable amount of attractions in Western Australia, although given the area the state covers, this should hardly be surprising. From Perth I first headed south to visit Margaret River, Pemberton and the giant karri forests at Walpole. I braced myself for the sixty metre high tree-top walkway, and tried to have fun, without looking down. I much preferred looking at the tall trees, from the ground angle. I was disappointed by a whale watching expedition in Dunsbourgh, when the only whales I saw were the ones advertised on the billboards beside the boat. I stood on the corner of the point where the Indian Ocean meets the Southern Ocean, as I made my way around Cape Leeuwin. The lush green scenery in the southwest corner of W.A was a stark comparison to the dry landscapes I had become accustomed to in the bush. This can be attributed to the difference in climate, and the lower temperatures, which are common in the southwest. In fact when I got to Augusta and heard that there had been a rare occurrence of snow in Albany, I decided to high tail it back north, and to keep going.

I started my notherly trek from Perth, and the first place of interest I came upon was the Pinnacles Desert. I found this vast collection of limestone rocks fascinating, (many attribute this appeal, to the rocks resemblance of phallic symbols) and I spent the whole day wandering around the strange formations, formed by erosion. The scenery was striking, especially with the dramatic colour changes around sunset.

The next port of call, after the Pinnacles, was Monkey Mia, which is well publicised as an attraction because you can swim with wild bottle-nosed dolphins. Unfortunately, I found Monkey Mia to be over commercialised, although the magic of watching wild dolphins interact with humans, close to shore, made the stop-over worth while. You don't actually get to swim with the dolphins at Monkey Mia, because rangers ensure that the public do not enter the water further than knee-depth, however, you can swim at other locations around the bay, in the hope that the dolphins will come to you. Alas in my case this was not to be and slightly disappointed I set off on my journey to Coral Bay, near Exmouth.

Unfortunately, I reached Coral Bay at the same time as the rest of the hoards of tourists on their spring vacation, and the place was over-run by energetic children and their families. This was a real shame because at all other, non-vacation, times of the year, Coral Bay is thought of as a quiet little place, where you can relax for days upon end. Which is exactly what I would have done, in these circumstances. As it was I only spent a few days observing the beauty of Coral Bay and Ningaloo Reef, which supposedly has a greater diversity of marine species than the Great Barrier Reef. There were opportunities to go on diving expeditions and glass bottomed boats, but being a canny backpacker I opted for the cheaper version of snorkeling, which was tremendous. The spectacular sights of the reef were fascinating and I regretted again, that I would have stayed for longer, had the place not been so busy. To this day, Ningaloo Reef is somewhere which I have listed among the places I want to visit again.

My next stop-over was to be Port Headland, not because it held any appeal, but because it was the last town before my destination of Broome, which was a seven hour drive away. I had not planned to stay in Port Headland, but I fell in with a good crowd and decided to extend my stay here. Port Headland did not have a very appealing write up in my, Rough Guide book, however, I spent an enjoyable week chilling out at the local outdoor swimming pool, which was the only place beside the air-conditioned shopping centre, that I could survive in the dry 40oC heat. It should have been winter, but North-West Australia does not really have winters and summers, it has dry seasons and wet seasons instead, and I had been advised, that I had timed it well to arrive before the wet season began. The backpakers I stayed in, was a real gem and I enjoyed numerous BBQ's and drinking sessions there. Many of which culminated in sing-songs, which, due to my toneless voice, I really should not have participated in, (you all lied!).

I managed to tear myself away from Port Headland, to make the seven hour drive to Broome in my twenty year old car, which did not have air con, and I nearly dehydrated in the persistent heat. There is one roadhouse between Broome and Port Headland, and not long after I had placed my newly purchased cold bottles of water under my seat, they became too hot to consume. You could easily have fried an egg on the road, which is one of those things I always meant to try, but never got round to because it was too hot to be in the sun to do it. My main concern in Broome was finding a backpackers with a pool, and I succeeded on this front, however, I failed on negotiating a room with air-con as they were fully booked. Sleeping in the pool did cross my mind, however, I found an excessive amount of alcohol was a pleasant alternative in achieving a sound nights sleep.

I went to sun bathe on the world renowned Cable Beach, although most of this time I was being tossed around, in the cool waters of the Indian Ocean. After twenty minutes with factor thirty sunsrceen, I still managed to get burnt - a factor which I attribute to my blue Scottish skin. The beach was pretty stunning, however, and stretched as far as the eye could see, with large breakers crashing in to shore. At night time, I was lucky enough to observe the local phenomenon, know as, Stairway to the moon. This event happens a few days every month, when there is a near full moon rising. As the moon rises and reflects off the tidal flats, it creates an optical illusion of a staircase leading to the moon and is quite an impressive sight. There is no shortage of tourist attractions in Broome, from pearl farms, or crocodile parks, to sunset camel rides, however, most of the time I chose instead, to relax in the shade by the pool. Before long, I had decided to undergo the last leg of my outward journey towards the remote Kimberley region.

About ten kilometres outside Derby, the next town from Broome, about two hundred kilometres away, Crystal, my faithful little corolla, had a seizure and I found myself stuck at the side of the road, jut after I had finished watching one of the most incredible sunsets I have ever seen. I was extremely fortunate that, for the number of remote locations my car had chosen to break down, it chose one which was near a town, and within fifteen minutes two cars had stopped to offer assistance. Normally in these parts, it is rare to see more than one car every couple of hours. I accepted the kind offer of the first car that stopped, and my saviour, a pilot for the Flying Doctors, towed me in to town, dropped my car off at a garage and even found me somewhere to stay. The news on my car the next day, was not good, and I learned it was going to cost at least three hundred dollars to fix, and I would have to wait a week for a new fan to be delivered from over East. I contemplated leaving the car where it was, and hitch-hiking back to Perth, however, this option held little appeal as I had accumulated far too much luggage to carry, therefor I decided to have Crystal repaired. Meanwhile, I set about occupying my time in Derby.

The first activity I decided upon, was a trip to explore the Kimberley and I set about arranging a guided tour, seeing as I no longer had the freedom of my own wheels. I booked a tour for the next day and went to cool down in the nice air-conditioned pub. This afternoon drink, turned in to a bit of a session as I met up with a mad Mancurian (is that what you call folks from Manchester?) and a few other characters. The night culminated in a marsh party, courtesy of the local boriginals who divided their time between singing to the sounds of a guitar, and winding me up about crocodiles encroaching upon the marsh as the tide moved in. Giving in to my paranoia, I spent the majority of the night surreptitiously looking over my shoulder, in case some estuarine croc should try and encroach upon me. It was still an enjoyable evening however, until it dawned on me that I had two hours left to catch some sleep, before departing on my Kimberley expedition. I immediately headed back to the Spinifex to get those precious minutes sleep. I need not have bothered, judging by the way I was feeling as the sun rose at 6am and I staggered outside to be picked up by my guide, who bore some remarkably similar traits to Crocodile Mick Dundee.

I managed to grab a few more hours sleep, as our four wheel drive trudged along the rough tracks of the Gibb River Road, and by the time we reached our first destination of Wyndjana Gorge, my condition was improved remarkably - well I was hungry, and that's always a good sign! It was only upon the realisation that we had to trek, on foot through the gorge, which made my condition deteriorate again. However, having paid the cash to get this far, I braced myself and summoned up the effort necessary to complete the two hour traipse through the dramatic scenery, in the relentless 46oC heat. I think I would have borne it a lot better, had it not been for the millions of blow-flies which infested us in the open air. It was impossible to keep them out of nose, eyes, ears and mouths, and a good few must have died a death in the acids of my stomach juices, having been snorted down or swallowed. One of my companions on the tour, was wearing a yellow T-shirt, and there were so many flies around, that her T-shirt was layered a thick colour of black, because of all the flies landing on her. I cursed myself for not having brought my fly-hood, which I had carried needlessly for four months around Asia.

Aside from the flies, the gorge was awesome. It was set in a prehistoric like landscape, which had formed under the sea as a coral reef, millions of years ago. As the sea had receded, the steep rock faces of layered strata had become exposed and they are now situated hundreds of kilometres from the nearest stretch of coastline. On the towering valley sides, water level marks are evident, from the flooding that fills up the gorge during the heavy rains of the wet season, but at that time, there was only one small reservoir of water, which supported the habitat of a small group of fresh water crocodiles and their young. I didn't get too close, despite the encouragement of our tour guide, Dundee, who swore profusely that fresh water crocs are shy and not dangerous at all. I didn't want to have to make a run for it, because in the blistering heat of the mid morning sun, I'm not sure that I could have ran at all, walking was hard enough. Perhaps because I had some footwear apparel on, unlike Dundee, who was leading the way through the sand with bare feet, oblivious to the intense heat of the ground which would have scorched my soles.

When we made it back to the car, I rudely positioned myself in front of the air-conditioning vents and proceeded to do my falling asleep trick once more. This time I was awakened when we stopped abruptly in the middle of the road, and reversed up. Dundee, had his eyes on a King Brown, one of the more deadly snakes around those parts he reckoned. Akin to that bloke that chases dangerous reptiles on ozzie television, Dundee leapt out of the jeep to get a closer look. I stayed safely inside and observed from where I was, which was quite close enough. Not amused by an audience, the king brown quickly slithered away from his sunbathing spot on the road, and disappeared in to the dense srcub. We took off down the dusty and bumpy Gibb River Road once more, stopping every so often, when the giant road trains flew past, stirring up mini sand storms, which prevented us from viewing the road for a minute or two. I needed a hair of the dog.

Later on in our expedition, we were lucky enough to see a frilled neck lizard. Frilled neck lizards are about the same size as a small cat, and they puff up their necks when they are intimidated, so they look like they are wearing an Elizabethan style, frilled collar. This poor chap, had the misfortune to be intimidated by our very own Dundee, who set about catching him and holding him up by his long tail, so that we could all get a good look. He was an intriguing creature, who puffed up his frills in quite an impressive manner, and when released, he sat glowering at the legs of our man Dundee. Not content to be released, the little lizard went for his revenge and ran up Dundee's boots to his nether regions, drawing blood with his sharp claws as he went. Dundee extricated the little beastie, suffering a few more claw marks to his hands, before the lizard tore off to a nearby tree branch, where he sat huffing and puffing at us. Slightly miffed, Dundee ordered us back in to the jeep and attended to his cuts, before we hit the road once more.

Another memory of the Kimberley which hits me, is that of Tunnel Creek. Tunnel Creek is actually an underground creek, which like many places in the Kimberley, you can only visit in the dry season. In the wet season, the creek is full and it would be impossible to pass though the underground tunnel. As it was, we were able to make our way down to the underground tunnel, which provided some cool respite from the baking sun. There were a few aboriginal drawings on the roof of the tunnel, but more interesting than them, were the hundreds of fruit bats hanging in the darkness of the tunnel roof. A few stray bats would swoop around every now and then as we sat and listened to the yarns spun by our guide. On our passage through the tunnel, we were lucky enough to see some rarer horseshoe bats and a few ghost bats. The atmosphere was quite eerie as we waded our way through the knee height water, remnant in the depths of the dark tunnel. Dundee flashed his torch and made us look at the three pairs of glinting red spots on the tunnel walls. Crocodile eyes, he says calmly as we are wading through water behind him, unable to see where we are going, or worse what we are standing on. A panic sets in amongst us tourists, but we are firmly reprimanded by Dundee, who once again insists that these fresh water creatures are harmless and shy. It wasn't a comfort to hear that they would probably only bite, if they thought they were under attack or being stood on. I quickened my pace and was relieved to be out of the water, back on to dry sand. That is, until Dundee pointed out the strange zig-zag patterns in the sand, which the crocodiles make with their tails as they move across the ground. We finally made it to the other end of the tunnel, and were rewarded with an open air, crystal clear spring, perfect for having a dip in, or so we were convinced. It was too tempting to refuse and soon we were all relaxing in the cool water. The only thing that was bothering me, was having to walk back through the dark tunnel, once more past the watching crocodiles, however, we all made it without incident, and exhausted, climbed in to our jeep to head for home.

When I returned back to Derby I my car was still sick and I still had a couple of days to wait before she would be better. I thought about going fruit picking to earn some cash, however, two factors persuaded me otherwise. The first being, that to pick fruit in the north-west, you generally have to get up around 4:30am and work until 11:30am, in order to avoid the midday heat, and the second being that fourteen pound water-melons, were the current type of fruit being harvested. Never having being very good with mornings, and not very appealed by the thought of heaving up back breaking weights, I neglected the idea, instead opting to sit at the backpackers with a few cans of the local brew, emu bitter. I found out the hard way, that one should never sink six cans of beer before lunch time, and continue to drink more in the afternoon, when sitting in sweltering mid forty degree heat, without consuming water. It certainly helped me pass time in Derby, as I spent the next two days recovering in my bed - which I had changed for an air-conditioned room with a television to help me cope.

When Crystal was once more road worthy, I began the awesome drive of some 3000 odd kilometres, back towards Perth. Planning to do the trip in one go was a bit of a foresight, even with a co-driver, and we decided to split the journey, stopping overnight in Newman. Despite the sparsity of landscape features and other cars on the road, it was still necessary to be alert whilst driving. This was due to the presence of wandering wildlife out in force, emus, kangaroos, camels and strayed cows, as well as the giant wedge tailed eagles, feeding off the numerous victims of road kill. Wedge tailed eagles are the largest species of bird, sporting a wingspan of up to nine metres. It is said that if they could read, they would be able to read the headlines of a newspaper, from over a kilometre away! It was easy to spot them on the road, which is more than I can say for the many kamikaze kangaroos which materialised from no where. Still, I managed to keep my road kill record clean and eventually arrived back in Perth with my trusty car. This was to become my home for the next six months as I took up a job as a delivery driver for car radiators, had my first Christmas on the beach, and saved up some precious funds for the next leg of my trip.

New South Wales

After spending so much time in Perth, Sydney was an experience that four and a half hours flying time, had not prepared me for. I headed towards Kings Cross, searching for a semi-decent, but cheap backpackers to stay in, without success. I found Sydney relatively unfriendly and impersonal, one of those places where everyone on the tube stares at the floor scared to catch anyones eye, however, I was probably biased after being in Perth for so long. I struggled up four flights of stairs to get to my room in the backpackers I had nominated to stay in, and found five other empty beds. I spent four days in Sydney, which was probably not long enough to give the place a fair go, but it was enough for me.

During those four days I did not meet many people as my backpackers was deserted, and save for one day, I did the obligatory sightseeing alone. The view from Sydney tower was impressive, especially the view of Sydney harbour, and on the horizon it was possible to make out the building for the year 2000 Olympics. The Harbour Bridge and the Opera House were as scenic as they are pictured in the photographs, and I gladly took a few of my own. I did not gladly book myself on a walk up the arches of the Harbour Bridge, having not quite conquered in Asia, the fear of bridges I have had since I was younger. Instead, I took myself on trip to Bondi Beach, and even though it was too cold to swim in, I did the big toe test, just in case. Sydney has a spectacular zoo, and one of the highlights of my visit there, was my first glimpse of a koala - having spent so much time in the bush of western Australia, I had become accustomed to roos and emus, but I had still not seen the elusive koala bear. After visiting the zoo, I decided I had had enough of city life, and took myself off to the Blue Mountains, more specifically Katoomba, to visit a friend of a friend, where a warm welcome awaited me.

The Blue Mountains is one of those special places, which managed to persuade me to go out and do some walking. The scenery is so spectacular, that I barely noticed I was exercising as I tramped along the Jamieson Valley with its abundance of waterfalls, during those gloriously warm autumn days. The views of Katoomba falls and the Three Sisters were so stunning, I got carried away with my camera and produced rolls of films, which I have never been able to interest anyone enough to show. Sunsets were picturesque, lending the blue glow to the dusk, from which the Blue Mountains derived their name. Evenings were even better, as we lit a fire in our log cabin, watched videos with popcorn, or played drinking games, such as Colonel Puff Puff, until dawn. I became so ensconced in life in the Blue Mountains that I slept in on the morning I was due to depart, and I missed my train. I managed to catch one an hour later and only just made it to the airport, with seconds to spare before the check in desk for my flight closed. I was now on my way to Queensland.

Queensland

Since I had spent time getting used to the cooler weather of New South Wales, I arrived in Cairns, unaccustomed to the oppressive humidity. However, the lure of a backpackers with a pool, made me forget about my discomfort as I adjusted to the tropical climate. Cairns is certainly somewhere to go if you have money to burn, and I might as well have burned mine because it disappeared quick enough. Mind you, if I'd burnt it, I would not have had the fantastic experiences which I remember fondly today. My favourite of which, has to be the two scuba dives which I did in the Great Barrier Reef.

The vivid colours of the reef are indescribable, and were poorly reproduced on the photographs I took with my underwater camera. On my first dive, I scared away a small reef shark, which was around a metre and a half in length, although I did feel relieved when I saw it swim away, rather than towards me. I relaxed immediately when underwater, and began to take in the surroundings of my strange new world. I saw giant clams, with purple velvet-like lining and brightly coloured clown fish, dodging through spongy anemones. There were vibrant red starfish and multi-coloured urchins, living along the shelves of the different varieties of coral, and of course there were a multitude of beautifully patterned fish, ranging from large spotted cod, to attractively coloured angel fish, butterfly fish and parrot fish, as well as many others which I could not even attempt to name. There were lots of sea cucumbers, and my instructor initiated a game of catch on the seabed, with one of them. He also found a crown of thorns starfish, which is fatal to coral and results in devastation of reefs. The crown of thorns, was carefully handled and removed from the reef.

My second dive was an even more amazing experience than my first, due to presence of a large friendly Maori Wrasse, nicknamed Wally. Wally is an exceptionally large fish, who is estimated to weigh around seventy kilos. He is an amiable character, who accompanied me for most of the dive, in order to satisfy his curiosity. Maori Wrasse are so named because of their broad, flat faces, which appear to have a tattooed appearance, similar to that of the New Zealand Maoriis. His body appeared the colour of a blue-green shimmery satin, with a velvety feel, and he loved to be tickled. Upon having his stomach rubbed, Wally would loll over on to his side like a puppy. Wally was much broader than me, although not quite as long, and he would let me put my hands around him so that he would drag me after him as he swam away. I was quite disappointed when I had to leave Wally, but I had to return to the surface, or I would have run out of air.

Not quite content to culminate my water adventures, I arranged to later go White Water Rafting down the Tully River. The Tully River, is graded IV on a grade I-VI scale, in rafting terms. Grade VI being the wildest, and grade I the mildest, so it was quite an exhilarating experience for a first timer, and a bit more physically demanding than I expected. This was probably because I had been positioned at the front of the boat, paired with my acquaintance Sally, and between us we had to work hard to navigate our course through the river. We also copped all the spray and the violent bumps, but we held on tight and managed not to fall in. Even though we decided to jump out of the raft and go for a dip at one point, since the weather was so nice. Tearing through the torrid rapids and falls, was a wicked experience, and it was a great way to observe the rainforest habitat of northern Queensland.

Whilst in Cairns, I was also lucky enough to participate in a hot air balloon ride over an area known as, the Atherton Tablelands. The ride itself, was not quite as adventurous as I had imagined, as we lifted gently off the ground, and were gradually lifted up to high altitudes, however, the real bonus here was the fantastic scenery of the early morning fog, rolling off the exposed mountains around the green of the Tablelands. We travelled some distance by air, and it was a magnificent feeling to be floating along, with an absence of engine noise, and nothing between you and the ground except a tough wicker basket. The ride was completely tranquil, and as we bumped back down to earth, we celebrated our journey with the traditional champagne breakfast.

My days in Cairns consisted of some very early mornings, but I managed to burn the candle at both ends and sneak in a few late nights. Courtesy of the cheap drinks served at the infamous backpacker hangout, the Woolshed, where you can buy a jug of red wine for $5, but having been there, done that, I wouldn't advise it. At least not if you have to get on a bus for the ten hour journey south, to Airlie beach.

Airlie beach is another haven for backpackers, mainly because it acts as a stepping stone to the beautiful Whitsunday Islands. The Whitsunday's, are an expanse of idyllic islands with white sands, set against tropical coloured waters. As many of the islands are designated national park areas, you are not permitted to stay on them, however, you can still visit the islands, and the best way of doing this is by booking a sailing trip. We sailed to the outer Whitsundays, and docked for a day, just off Whitehaven Beach. The beach has incredibly white sand, which is comprised of 99.98% pure silica, and it is said, that when you burn the sand in a strong enough heat, it will transform in to glass. Whilst snorkeling in the sea grass just off the beach, I saw some loggerhead turtles, gliding through the water with a grace they lack on land. On the beach, I found a family of Goannas, one of the larger members of the lizard family. These fast creatures were very intimidating and I got chased out of the bush a number of times by them. I wasn't risking feeling the lash of their tail, or having them claw their way up to my head, which they are apparently notorious for. We sailed next to Dunk Island, where we went on a bush-walk through canopy rainforest, observing a great diversity of species, and we stopped at numerous coral reefs where we did an abundance of snorkeling. When I returned to Airlie, I had no time to waste, and I headed southbound for my next destination, Fraser Island.

Fraser Island is the worlds largest sand island, which has no roads and is only traversable by four wheel drive. I opted for an organised tour, which turned out to be an excellent choice. There were about forty of us in all, and we all became fast friends thanks to the relentless enthusiasm of our young guide, Keith, aka Tom Sawyer of the island. Our transport, was a luxury style, four wheel drive bus which was completely equipped with seat belts - which you needed as the bus lurched around, showing us the many hidden delights of the island. Firstly we went on a six kilometer rainforest walk, which was predominantly uphill, but this was endured easily as we were in awe of the beauty of the island, the sparkling drinking water creeks, enswamped by green leafy jungle. We then stopped to cool off at the picturesque Lake Mackenzie, and swam in the clear freshwater, before initiating a game of water volleyball. The camaraderie in the bar at night was terrific, and I was even persuaded to stand upon a chair and give a solo rendition of Flower of Scotland, (and that's before I had a drink!). To culminate the evening we all went for a dip in the spa, precariously avoiding the dingoes, before we called it an night, since Keith had arranged for us to get up at the crack of dawn the next day.

We had a long and bumpy bus ride the next day, as we made our way along ninety mile beach, to Ellies Creek, on the opposite side of the island. Ellies Creek is as set in surroundings like a water-ride attraction would be, however it is completely natural. If you get in the clear water of the creek upstream, you can let yourself drift with the current, through stunning tropical surroundings, until you reach the beach. The creek, was like a revitalising treatment to those of us who had overindulged the night before, and who now lay peacefully on the sand. The same afternoon we pressed on to Indian Head, an excellent lookout point, where I was able to view dolphins and sharks in the ocean below. There were quite a few dingoes around here, scavenging on the beach, however, they kept their distance from us, which suited me fine. There have been a few attacks by dingoes of late, mainly because they are being fed by tourists, which makes them come closer to look for food.

On the rocky shoreline around Indian Head, sharks are common, and no one was very keen to go swimming in the deep ocean, however, we all had a dip in the champagne rock pool. This is a natural enclosure of rock, which fills up with the spray of the ocean, and bubbles away like champagne. I could have stayed there for longer, however, we had some serious sand boarding to do, and we set off on an expedition to find the steepest dunes. The dunes were so steep, it took me about fifteen minutes to get to the top, wheezing and puffing. It only took about ten seconds to get down, and someone forgot to tell me to close my mouth. By the time I had removed all traces of sand from various orifices, I had rescaled the dune, and was ready for a second attempt. The afernoon whizzed by, and soon we were on our way back to the bar. We had a bit of a jolly that night, seeing as we were all departing in various directions the following day, and I'm sure I can attribute the way I was feeling to the cheap bottles of champagne, which myself and two buddies obtained from our efforts at reciting, Hound Dog and Should I Stay or Should I Go?, on the Karaoke.

After the exhausting activities of the past month, I am fairly contented to arrive in Brisbane, as there is relatively little to interest me, and I pounce on the chance to relax. I do the obligatory socialising, however, do not manage to time it right for a tour of Castlemain XXXX brewery, and before I can say Aukland, I am on a plane to New Zealand, to continue my adventures.

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