Anyway, back to Airlee Beach. What's the draw, you ask, if there's nothing really to do there? Airlee Beach serves as the main gateway to the Whitsunday Islands, a collection of 74 islands stretching between the coast and the Great Barrier Reef. They are, in a word, magnificent. Not only are they part of a national park - and therefore off limits to development - but several of the islands are listed as a UNESCO World Heritage site. (That's just a fancy way of saying that they're amazingly beautiful.) In fact, except for three of the islands, no one is allowed to go above the mean high water mark. Some people take day trips on small boats to see specific islands, but I figured what the hell - might as well go for the gold.
So I signed up for a three-day cruise to explore the islands more fully and to dive the outer reaches of the Great Barrier Reef. The ship was small - there were only 14 passengers and three crew members - which allowed everyone to get to know one another well. The accommodations were decent and the food was downright superb. The cost of the cruise priced out most backpackers (good riddance for a few days!); the passengers were older and more serene. There we are, executing the worst-timed 'group jump photo' in history. We tried this shot four times, and not once did we get a picture where everyone was off the ground at the same time. It really shouldn't have been that difficult. One, two, three, jump! How hard is that?? Just pathetic.We explored several islands and they were all quite pretty. Yet only one is worth noting. That would be the main island, which is called - no surprise here - Whitsunday Island. It's special for one very crucial reason: Whitehaven beach. Whitehaven beach is a vast stretch (about four miles long and 2 miles wide) of the whitest sand you could possibly dream of. And that's not just my own hyperbole. That's an actual fact (or so I'm told). The sand is 99.8% pure silica - the purest white beach sand that's been found on the planet. The sand is so nearly perfect that before it become a national park, the U.S. took out thousands and thousands of tons of it to use in the construction of telescopes, including the Hubble telescope.
In order to get to the beach, we had to walk across the island from the other side where our boat anchored. This afforded us the opportunity to see the beach from this panoramic view. When I got to the viewpoint, it was truly a "holy shit" kind of moment. This picture was taken at just about high tide, which explains why there's some water on the sand. At low tide, all you'd see is sand. The sand looks and feels like perfectly granulated sugar. With the sun shining down, the sand is painful to look at without sunglasses because it's so bright. 
It's really just an amazing sight to behold. And the best part: it's one of the few places in the Whitsundays where people are allowed to go (because it's all below the mean high water mark.) So what does an immature, out-of-work guy from Los Angeles do when confronted with the purest beach sand in the world? He builds a sand castle. (I usually start with the defenses - the wall and the moat - and then turn to the castle itself. In case you cared to know.) The only problem with sand that fine is that it's really hard to get off your body. Even after three days of swimming, scuba, and showers, I kept finding little patches of Whitehaven sand on my skin. I guess that's the price you pay for paradise.
After exploring the islands, we ventured into deeper waters to begin our exploration of the reef. Like I said in my previous post, 
I was a little disappointed with the section of the Great Barrier Reef that I saw near Cairns. But what I saw in Cairns was the "inner reef" - the portion closest to the mainland with less biodiversity and generally fewer sharks, turtles, and other interesting marine life. This boat was going to the "outer reef," so I was really hoping to see some great marine life. And no more of this wussy snorkeling crap - it was time to nut up or shut up. So I strapped on my diving suit and prepared to go down. There I am, all suited up and ready to go for the first big dive of the day. That's actually not a wetsuit, it's a 'stinger suit.' There's no need for a wetsuit since the water is about 70 degrees. But there's plenty of jellyfish in the water, including the potentially lethal box jellyfish. 
So a full body suit is required to go in the water, even if you're just swimming along the beach. When I put it on, I felt like a cross between Jacques Cousteau and a Navy SEAL. Despite my beginner status, the guide took me through some very narrow passageways between coral towers that were difficult to navigate, including the one pictured here. And what did I see? Well, as before, the coral was less than impressive. It wasn't nearly as vibrant or as diverse as I had hoped for. But who needs coral when you've got some badass things swimming through the water. The underwater camera I got for the trip was the best thing I've ever rented. I got up close and personal with a six foot white tip shark, a huge fish (I forget the name, but it was about five feet long), and, of course, a sea turtle:
The only thing that sucks about not being a certified diver is that I'm only supposed to go 12 meters deep. That's usually just fine, but there were occasions when it would have been nice to explore a little deeper. Several times under water I asked the scuba guide (with hand signals, obviously) if we could descend further. He refused. I kept thinking, "What's the deal?" Is there a scuba police that's going to know I went to a depth of 13 or 14 meters? Are they going to fly out on a helicopter and arrest me with a D.T.D. - Diving Too Deep? And what would the punishment be - no swimming in the ocean for five years; maybe, with good behavior, I could get it reduced to two years and I could snorkel within 50 yards of the beach? Sometimes these safety rules can suck my...
I digress. 
The other great thing about being on a boat in the middle of nowhere is just that - being away from it all. There's our boat, 170 miles from the coastline, with no other boats in sight. It might sound like corny New Age nonsense, but there really is something about the peace and serenity of the ocean. There was no wind and the sea was still, so when the engine was off, it was virtual silence. No internet, no cell phones, no t.v., no radio - nothing. Sure, we talked plenty, but every now and then people would sink into their own little worlds - reading books, sleeping, or listening to their ipods - and everything was still and calm. And at sunrise and sunset, everyone just sat in silent reverence of the beauty that Mother Nature had to offer. And she did not disappoint. The days would begin with this...
...and end with this...
Not a bad way to spend three days. Yet the sun's arrival and departure didn't even get top billing. That went to the stars. I haven't seen a starry night sky like that since - I remember this exactly - October 1996 in Joshua Tree National Park. Every star was out in full force. One night I stayed up long after everyone else went to sleep just gazing at them above me. Of course, that got me to thinking - never a good thing. I know I'm not alone when I say that staring at stars makes me feel tiny and insignificant... but in a good way. I figure, I might as well enjoy what little time I have. And somehow that led me to thinking about another one of my lists: Top 4 Ways I Wouldn't Mind Dying. It's a little morbid, sure, but sometimes that's what happens when you reflect on life:
- Massive heart attack right after finishing a hearty session of love-making.
- Being attacked by a chicken burrito, guacamole, queso, and a strawberry margarita.
- (Tie) Anything involving a Ferrari / Overdosing on chocolate. (As to the chocolate, I could go three ways on that. First, Ben&Jerry's Phish Food Ice Cream. Chocolate ice cream, gooey marshmallow, caramel swirls, and fudge. It's like a party in your mouth and everyone's invited. In my heyday of bad eating habits in college, I could polish off two pints for dinner. Second, Betty Crocker Whipped Milk Chocolate Frosting. I've been known to eat an entire 13oz can in one sitting. Third, Trader Joe's Pound Plus Milk Chocolate bar. It's not the best chocolate I've ever tasted, but for some reason I've got a soft spot for it. If you've never tried it, get yourself to Trader Joe's asap. It's an 18 ounce bar divided into 32 squares; as recently as this past summer, I ate 20 of the 32 squares - over 60% - in 15 minutes. Becky is my witness on that.)
After three days on the water, I came back to land and once again headed further down the coast to my next stop, Hervey Bay. At this point I should explain how backpacker transportation works here in Australia. There are two main ways backpackers get through Australia: by renting a beat-up camper van and sleeping in it at designated campsites, or by taking the classic Greyhound bus and crashing at hostels. I was tempted to blaze my own path between the two: renting a fun car and going it solo on the road, but staying in hostels. Unfortunately, the only options for rental cars were small or mid-size compacts, like a Chevy Aveo or Ford Focus. No disrespect to those cars - I hear they're quite reliable and fuel efficient - but I'd never be caught dead driving them. I really don't give a crap about reliability and fuel efficiency right now. I want muscle and speed. I want gas guzzling machismo. I practically begged the guy at the rental shop for a Camaro or Corvette or Mustang, but they didn't rent sports cars. And they were out of Audis and Saabs, so it was a compact car or nothing. I chose nothing. It's too bad, really, because these roads are crying out for me to drive them. They're wide open, well-paved, and usually empty. So I settled for the Greyhound bus. I forgot how much long distance buses suck, especially at night. I've taken two overnight trips as of writing this post - one from midnight to 1pm, the other from 7pm to 7am - and they are b.r.u.ta.l. 
Just for kicks, I figured I'd take a picture of a Greyhound bus at 3am. So that's what it looks like, in case you cared to know. Seats don't recline, leg room is non-existent, and other people smell bad (shower before you get on a bus, people!). And here's the real kicker: I can't sleep on buses. I've tried. I've failed. Just doesn't happen. At the risk of getting too personal (although we've probably already crossed that line), I'm a stomach sleeper. I might doze off on my back, but I always return to the comfort of sleeping on my belly. This poses a problem when you're on a bus for 14 hours. So, for the first overnight trip, I found myself relying on an option I often turn to in times of trouble - alcohol. Why not drink enough booze to force myself to pass out? Seemed like a reasonable solution at the time. While the plan was solid, the execution was poor - I peaked too soon, passed out hours before the bus arrived at the terminal, and when I woke up just in time to catch the bus, I found myself unable to go back to sleep. So I was drunk and tired for the entire trip. Not smart, Newman.
Fortunately, the bus driver was neither drunk nor tired (at least judging by his careful driving skills), so I made it to my next destination in one piece. I landed in another small town, this one called Hervey Bay. Once again, the town itself is nice but nothing special; the real draw is it's proximity to Fraser Island, another UNESCO World Heritage Site. Fraser Island is the world's largest sand island. There's no rock of any kind. The fancy brochure that my hostel gave me said that it was created over hundreds of thousands of years as sand erosion from the beach on the mainland led to an accumulation of sand about 3 miles offshore, thereby creating an island. I think that's right... but to be honest, I could easily be wrong. What the hell do I know about sand erosion and geology? I'm a lawyer, not a scientist. Like so many of my fellow colleagues, I went to law school specifically because I can't do science. Anyway, this ain't no tiny little island - it's about 100 miles long and 10 miles wide. And even though the foundation is entirely sand, about 75% of the island is covered in dense forest. Somehow the plant life was able to adapt to the islands' soil and thrive. So much so, in fact, that before it became a national park, it was heavily forested by locals. I spent some time just hanging out on the island, and it's really quite amazing to see so much grow on pure sand, but two places really stood out for me. The first is Lake McKenzie. 
It's one of several fresh water lakes on the island. The water is eerily clear and, due to the strange shape of the surface of the lake, it has a very distinct two-toned appearance. The bed of the lake is very shallow for about 20 yards, and then it drops of almost vertically to a much greater depth. Because this change is not gradual, the water color is at one point crystal clear and then it immediately turns to a dark royal blue. It's freaky. Also, the water is slightly acidic, so it has a fountain of youth quality that makes your skin and hair feel very soft. 
My other favorite place on the island is the eastern beach, facing the Pacific Ocean. It's called 75 mile beach, even though it's only 58 miles long - but who's counting? What's impressive is that it's uniterrupted for 58 miles - no breaks, no bays, no rocky outcroppings. And it's also deserted. There's nothing on the beach. In fact, the only signs of humanity are the occasional cars passing back and forth; the sand is so compact that the beach is the main highway for people going from one end to another. 
But if there are no cars in sight, then there's nothing in sight. It was pretty amazing to step onto the middle of beach, look left for 30 miles, look right for 30 miles, and see nothing. No too bad, Fraser Island. Not too bad at all. (Actually, that's not entirely true. At the very north edge of the beach, there's an old shipwrecked boat that has been stuck there since the 1930s. It is slowly rotting away, having already been stripped by locals of anything valuable. Pretty cool.)
That's it for week two. I left Fraser Island, back on the road again, to my next destination further down the coast. Another Greyhound bus, another smelly passenger...
No comments:
Post a Comment