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Ivy and clown fish |
After 5 days in Townsville with the highlight being Oli bagging his
300th bird we were all desperate for some action. Sara and Oli had
scoured the towns op shops to find sufficiently ugly anti-stinger wear and I’m
really not sure what happened to the other 2 days. We moved from one Townsville
caravan park which wouldn’t store our van, to another which would. The car was
packed with supplies for six nights and we returned to Lucinda to
await the boat to Orpheus Island. We had no idea what to expect; this could either go brilliantly, or it could be a complete disaster.
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Kids on the boat heading over to the island...of terror |
Orpheus Island; there was something sinister about the name
that reminded me of the movie “Jurassic Park”. It is a scientific research
station after all and so my over indulged brain slipped into Hollywood screen writer mode. Enter stage left, Ian; the talkative, nut brown boat driver,
with his sun and salt bleached mullet. As you looked into his eyes, you knew
you were only ever going to get half of his story; that the bits he would tell were
only hints of something far more interesting. From stage right, stepping out of
a taxi, comes Marta, a young Brazilian woman who was about to start work on the
island. And there was us, a young family of three blonde excited children, and two haggard parents looking for an escape from the real world. It was late when this motley crew left the shadow of Hinchinbrook, and as darkness
fell over our shoulders like an inky, damp shroud , Ian steered us out into the
channel.
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Looking towards Hinchinbrook Island at sunset |
The lights of the manager’s cottage appeared over the blue
bruised swell. Ian cut the engines and squeezed the Challenger 2 across the jagged
reef. Our gear was transferred into the basket on a forklift, and we stepped
onto the beach. Haley, the island’s manager, welcomed us with a grin, showed us
our accommodation, and in her soft Kiwi accent, suggested we meet for the
induction tomorrow morning at 7:30.
We were on time. Even Oliver had sprung out of his bunk bed
in anticipation. Haley’s soft accent told us about the island and with the
briefly mentioned menace of 4 hours of work from each of us hanging over our
heads, we signed forms releasing James Cook University from any responsibility
for our death or disfigurement, then returned to our quarters for a cup of
coffee. Enter the mad and hairy English scientist. Professor David Bellwood.
The scene was complete. Cue thunderstorm. Cue greedy, disgruntled employee.
Release the mutant man eating fish.
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Giant clam garden |
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Coral and fish, coral and fish, coral and fish etc |
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Walking on the beach at low tide |
None of that happened. Haley the Betadine Queen didn’t
abduct us and sentence us to a lifetime of slave labour. Instead she gave
assignments to the kids including coral, fish, and bird identification
projects, with only brief periods of toilet cleansing. Ian’s stories never
became menacing; only more amusing as the week went on. Marta wasn’t the first
to be eaten by the mutant fish monster, but she did introduce us to the local
black tip reef shark population, her babies! And the mad scientist popped in
for a chat and promptly told Oli to become a marine biologist for work and an
ornithologist in his spare time. As we stood around the fish tank he taught the
kids and us a lot of things about fish that we’d never thought we needed to
know, in a sing song voice that meant you were never sure as to whether he was
telling the truth, or just making stuff up.
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Coral and fish, coral and fish, coral and fish etc |
We walked over to the other side of the island and weren’t
trapped in the massive webs of the golden orbed spider. We swum over the reef
and weren’t stabbed by coral spears, or eaten by a giant clam. The seven nights
we had planned to stay turned into fourteen. Haley provided food including a
leg of lamb until I was able to head back into town with Rhonda and Terry for
supplies. Again the film script threatened to rear its predictable head. Rhonda
had never piloted a motor boat back across the channel alone. Now she had to do
it against a savage outgoing tide and increasing 18 – 20 knot winds, with the
most inexperienced first mate in the world. My time on a Dutch barge in France
counted for little apparently! We’d only gone 200 metres when she suggested
Plan B might be returning to the dock, and settling down in the pub. But she
pushed on and got back me and my bruised bum back in time for sunset with
prawns and beer and wine, just as Terry said she would.
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Boris the Green Tree Frog in the sink |
It was a remarkably quick 11 days and became the longest we
have stayed in one place to date. The kids revelled in an environment that
revered knowledge of all things natural, not to mention one that supplied as
much white bread as you could eat. We snorkeled and paddled and read and hiked
in as beautiful a place as we’ve been. Who knows, we may just return to
Orpheus, for if nothing else, it has ensured our children will never clean
toilets for a career!
H
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