Cairns to Dunk Island

Friday, April 2--Cairns sits on Trinity Bay, so named by Captain Cook when he came this way because he arrived here on Trinity Sunday. His log indicates that he thought it was a place just for “mosquitoes and crocodiles” and he left. He found the Great Barrier Reef off the coast by, as our driver Chris said, by “running into it.” There are, Chris said, crocodiles in the rivers and creeks, despite the fact that this is now a fast-growing metropolitan area of about 132,000 people.

Sugar cane and tourism are the major sources of income here, although the cane fields are being sold off for housing developments. As the area attracts more “holiday-goers,” its growth will bring more change.

On our drive down a highway that goes all the way to Brisbane, about 1200 miles south, runs in a sea of green. The sugar cane and greenery in the lowlands are almost glowing, seeming to be lit from within, perhaps containing sunshine that’s actually pretty scarce around here. The trees and foliage growing thickly on the mountain slopes is darker. Along the roadside blooming plants have flowers in yellows, purples, pinks, reds and whites. The plants without blooms are colorful, too, with leaves of green, yellow and red.

We pass two Sikh Temples along our route. As we come by a mountain called Walsh’s Pyramid, over 900 metres high, we’re told there’s an annual footrace there that’s been going on for more than 50 years and runners get up and down it in a record hour and 20 minutes or so. It’s very steep, so the prospect of such a run is daunting.

As we pass fields of banana trees, we’re told that the bags surrounding the banana bunches are there to protect them from birds, but also to help the bananas maintain a uniform size. It looks rather labor-intensive. Our driver asks if we think bananas are fruits. We answer yes. He says no, it’s an herb. Who knew? Mangoes are also grown here, having been brought in from India, and pineapples are grown west of here. This is an area of heavy rainfall and much is successfully farmed.

I’m fascinated by the place names that are such a wonderful mix of heritage and language. We pass signs for Aloomba, Gordonvale, Babinda, Dinner Creek, Innisfail, Millaa Millaa, Ingham and Miriwinni. Millaa, we hear, is the aboriginal word for water. Used twice, it means lots of water. That certainly fits in a region that has at least 100 inches of water each year.

There is no clay here to make brick, so homes are built of timber or concrete block. Many are raised up in this wet climate where sudden hard rains can create flooding. In 2006 Cyclone Larry, a Category 5 storm, blew through here, smashing the cane and banana fields, damaging the roads and blowing the tin roofs off houses. Only now, four years later, has the residual damage from that event disappeared from view.

Signs refer to this as the Cassowary Coast. The cassowary (from New Guinea dialect kasu-weri, meaning horn-headed) is a large flightless bird that lives in the rainforest and is quite dangerous. In addition to its colorful plumage and the horn on its head, it has a very sharp claw that can disembowel a human being. [Ah, yes, it’s another of Australia’s deadly creatures.]

There are now only 1300 of these left in all Australia, making it a somewhat endangered species. Predators are primarily feral animals (dogs, cats and pigs) who mostly steal the bird’s eggs, but the deadliest predator is man, specifically humans in vehicles. Alongside the road in one area we see a huge sign with silhouettes of a car and a cassowary with the words “Speeding Has Killed Cassowaries.”

We pass a winery named Murdering Point. When I asked about the name, the driver said it probably referred to earliest times when whites and Aborigines were not friendly and, in fact, white people shot aboriginal people with impunity.

We turn off the main highway to go to Mission Beach, a village where we’ll catch the ferry to Dunk Island, our home for the next two nights. The ferry is a catamaran and we all choose to sit out on the front deck as we cross a relatively calm sea. It’s cloudy and pleasant and wonderful to hear only the thrum of the engines and the wind in my ears. Ahead of us are several islands and we make our way to ours in about half an hour.

Arriving on Dunk Island, we’re greeted by the resort staff and bused the short distance to the hotel area itself. We discover it’s both a national park and a family resort with an abundance of children running around this Easter holiday. Mike and Pat and I get checked into our beachside rooms and walk back to the jetty where we arrived to get some lunch at the café there.

Walking through the rainforest even a short distance is a reminder that wet climates enjoy the presence of mosquitoes. I quickly take advantage of the small shop next door to buy a small bright green can “Bushman Plus.” This miracle spray (also a sunscreen) professes to repel not just mosquitoes, but also sandflies, flies, ticks AND leeches! We’re glad to use it to ward of the current pests and sincerely hoping not to need it for leeches.

Mike and I use the beach route back to our room, just wading at the edge of the water. The brochure in our room that’s entitled “Jellyfish—An Informative Guide” assures us that none of the awful stinging box jellyfish is seen here regularly, but they do provide the brochure and throughout the property there are vinegar stations along the shore. Vinegar is the best immediate treatment for those who are stung. Needless to say, swimming in the pool seems a much better option than risking swimming where any stinging jellyfish might be.

We’re told there are no poisonous snakes on the island, but there are snakes. Apparently these are harmless pythons, etc. Now, for someone with my snake phobia, the use of the word harmless next to python is simply pointless--especially when they also say that the non-poisonous snakes might bite you if you frighten them. I have no wish to frighten them and hope they will feel the same about me, meaning they won’t come where I can see them.

We came back, got into our “swimming costumes,” as our guide Leigh calls them, but opted for a quick nap instead. We slept for hours, maybe because there have been too many late nights and early mornings and all these days of coaches, airplanes, walks and talks, cities and towns, mountains and valleys.

We awoke to Pat’s knocking on the door telling us that we’re 15 minutes from dinner, so we quickly roused ourselves, got presentable at best and headed for yet another buffet with our group. We enjoyed our table of friends, although we had to move when the rain came down again and blew into the restaurant which is sort of like a high tent.

After dinner, Mike and I went into the lounge and tried a local rum, Bundaberg, made by the same folks who make sugar from those cane fields. It’s a dark and overly sweet rum, by our tastes, but we like to try things. Some of our tour mates came in and we had a wide-ranging conversation when we could hear each other over the sound of the guitarist who played and sang tonight.

When they took the candle from our table and turned on the overhead lights, we had been there through a couple of different hard rains, but were able to walk back to our room through a soft mist. As I’ve written this, I’ve heard the rain intensify at least twice. We’re scheduled to go out to the Great Barrier Reef for snorkeling tomorrow and they say we’ll go, rain or shine. Now it’s time for sleep, perfect with the sound of rain all around.

Photos by Mike Lumpkin