A Proper Bush Walk

It was getting toward dusk when we finally returned from the lake. I had my humble meal of dried noodles before being generously invited to share some of the food that the other friends had brought. These included wraps, sandwiches, and various kinds of drinks. In return for this, I was asked to grill the onions, peppers, and kabobs for the wraps. After an enjoyable time and a lot of good food, I went off to bed.

The next morning was unpleasant.

I had a headache that promised to grow worse and I felt distinctly nauseous. I ended up wandering over to a picnic table away from the encampment and sat with my head down, hoping that it would pass. As I was clearly unwell, various people came over to ask if there was anything they could do, but I really just needed to close my eyes and lie down. It was at this point that Jenny Stapleton began calling me ‘matey’, which I found rather endearing. She brought me a coke and even dragged over a swag for me to lie on. But it was all for nothing. By this time I had started to be physically sick.

Now, things like this had happened to me before and I ran down the list of usual suspects to deduce what had reduced me to this state. I hadn’t had much alcohol the night before, I wasn’t dehydrated, there had been no barometric pressure changes, and nothing I had eaten was likely to have contained artificial sweetener or MSG. It was possible that I ate something the night before that might have gone bad, but if that were the case, then evacuating the offending item would have solved the problem. However Jenny put forth another possibility: I might have swallowed a bit too much blue-green algae-infested lake water the day before. Remember the big sign sitting right next to the lake? Well it was advertising this exact danger. Though most people don’t get overly sick from ingesting a little bit of this bacteria, others can end up with severe stomach pains, diarrhea, skin irritation, vomiting, or headaches. The only thing I could do was go home to men’s room and bedroom, and suffer through it.

It happened that Ian Williamson’s parents were going into Monto to buy groceries, and so they offered to take me back with them. They were nice people. Gary had some of the worst dad jokes I had ever heard while his wife mostly sat quietly in the back seat (likely grimacing at each one). When they dropped me off, I was surprised to see that their two small dogs were in the back seat with her. They never made a sound the whole ride! The Williamsons lived three hours North in Rockhampton. Fiona had also sent along a small, packaged vomit bag under the brand name of “Chuckies”, which I found terribly amusing and fortunately didn’t need to use during the drive. I went inside, turned on the air con, and buried my head in my pillow.

By late the next day I had fully recovered. It was Sunday.

Two days later, some of the younger Brothers had to come to town to pick up a prescription at the chemist. Mikey Stapleton had gotten hit in the head with a wake board during a fairly gnarly wipe out and had had to get three stitches. The other two guys needed to get some groceries. When everyone had gotten what they needed, we got into the ute to leave, but the engine wouldn’t turn over. We were instructed to give the vehicle a push start. This worked, though we looked a bit goofy doing this in the middle of town on the main street. The engine roared to life and we jumped back into the vehicle, but by the time we reached the end of the street, the car had stalled once again. After another successful push start, we stopped at the petrol station and Cameron bought a new battery. Cameron was the son of Nigel Green, whom I had hiked with a few days previously. After about an hour, the new battery was installed and we set off for Cania.

One exciting feature of driving around Monto was that there were sometimes long stretches of road that were only one lane wide, but remained a two way road. This would involve driving straight toward an oncoming car in a straight line, as if playing chicken, and then suddenly pulling half of the car over onto the gravel elbow, while the other driver did the same, before veering back onto the road again. It actually felt a bit like jousting. We arrived a bit late for the bush walk, but fortunately the group had waited for us before setting off.

Now I’ll only pass this way once, but I’m going to take a moment to share something I just found on the “Queensland Government Parks and Forests” web site. When offering advice for those wishing to go for a bush walk, it states:

“When you are looking for a more challenging bush walking experience, get off the beaten track and go hiking. For recommendations on the best hikes, including the Great Walks, see “Off the Beaten Path” Experiences.”

So, having established a precedent, if I call the activity I’m about to describe a hike, you’ll have to cut me some slack.

The last time we had gone for a group walk, we were on prescribed pathways. This time we would be making our own way up to a spot that was not officially on any park map. On the ride to the lake a few days back, we had seen many views of a majestic expanse of plateau called Castle Mountain. It looked like the type of place that would harbor a prehistoric Lost World or a large, colorful bird named ‘Kevin’, and while there was a trail up to a lookout at the top, the Craigs had spotted what appeared to be a large cave, visible on the approach to the dam. They had hiked up there before and knew the way. It was Tim’s idea and he took full responsibility for the safety of everyone as we now undertook the day’s climb.

We parked at a turn off near the base of the dam near a place called Salt Trough Creek. From there we began our walk, with Tim and some other veterans leading the way. There were about fifteen or twenty of us, men and women, old and young; each with the spirit of adventure and sufficient health to walk a good distance in the heat.

As we walked, I learned a great deal about Paul Hogan, the actor that most Americans know as Crocodile Dundee. I don’t recall how the subject came up, but I was told that Hogan had been making money as a painter on the Sydney Harbor Bridge originally, but because he was such a natural comedian, some of the guys he worked with had suggested he enter a local comedy competition. He appeared in 1971 and billed himself as a ‘tap dancing knife thrower’. He went of stage and spent most of the act making jokes at the judges’ expense (a novelty at the time) before briefly shuffling his feet and throwing the knives on the ground. He was an instant hit and did so well that he was able to segue from painting right into doing comedy for a living. For almost ten years he had his own sketch comedy show, which also aired in the UK, and was very popular. We watched a few episodes about a month or so later and I was genuinely surprised by how funny the man was. What he did was somewhere between the Muppet Show, Benny Hill, and Monty Python’s Flying Circus. Great stuff! Who knew? (Australians, I suppose.)

The angle at which we were hiking wasn’t impossible, but it was certainly enough to work up a sweat and require occasional breaks. It was somewhat open grassy bush land with sufficient trees for shade, so it wasn’t hard to keep our destination in view and stay on course. Here again my assumptions about Australia were challenged. I had assumed that the bush was a very dangerous place, crawling with spiders, snakes, and goannas that would strike down an unwary traveler at a moment’s notice. I had assumed that long pants and thick boots were essential if one was to survive a hike in the bush. But as we walked, I noted that the people around me were wearing little more than T shirts, shorts, and tennis shoes. They were no more concerned than if they had been crossing a parking lot. About half an hour or so later, we came across large rocks and the climbing began. This portion was fairly short and we soon emerged into a large and shallow shaded area that was essentially a large-mouthed cave comprised of sandstone. And there was guano; lots of guano. The bats evidently liked this spot as well.

But the view was amazing.

We spent some time here catching our breath, rehydrating, and getting pictures, before beginning the climb back down. We also made a quick Mo Coight video, during which I destroyed my favorite pair of sunglasses and got a face full of dirt. But the video also got a laugh, so mission accomplished I suppose.

At one point during the descent, Tim asked me to keep an eye on the younger ones and to assist anyone who needed help getting safely back down the mountain. He took safety seriously, especially in this case, because he had organized the activity himself. I had overheard him asking one of the younger guys on the way up to be careful not to wander off or do anything dangerous. Tim explained that because he was responsible for bringing other people up here, he would be blood guilty if someone got badly hurt because of his not supervising and looking after everyone. He would go on to express this same concern on other occasions. I thought it was a wonderful attitude to have. Tim had a real concern for life and safety, but at the same time he knew how to have fun. It was a nice balance.

Once we reached the bottom and everyone was accounted for, we returned to the Tourist Retreat. It was December 31st. We had a good deal of the day left and most people were determined to stay up as late as possible to see the end of 2019 and the start of 2020. So there was a whole second half of the day to get through, and still much to be done. I would shortly have another bash at the lake, but from a safer vantage point this time.

I would also get a glimpse into a future far beyond 2020.