On the Road Again
Week ?
Cairns, Atherton Tablelands, Cooktown, etc.
Australia, much like America, is undeterred by rising fuel prices, and Aussies are enjoying an automotive shopping spree with fuel economy taking a back seat to thrills and power. Never one to miss out on a fad (except the Flowbee), Chris, Carrie and I sought out our very own thrill machine, even if only a temporary hire. No fuel efficient bubble on wheels would satisfy. Enter the Whomping Wombat: a seven seater 4 x 4 Nissan Patrol equipped with two fuel tanks, a V6 turbo charged diesel engine and serious off-road toad-crushing tyres. If the thoughts overkill or excessive come to mind, you are no doubt correct, but at $80 a day it was an offer not to be refused.
Armed with our own Neverlost system (a.k.a Chris with a map), we plotted our first course out of Cairns to the Atherton tablelands, a dry transitional zone between the lush coast and the arid outback. Or at least that was my initial assumption before Lake Eacham, Ellinjaa falls, Zillie falls, Millaa Millaa falls, Little Millstream falls, and Millstream falls all made a liar out of me.
Ellinjaa falls
Millaa Millaa falls certainly was not the most impressive (that honor, in my opinion, goes to Little Millstream Falls, though Zillie is a close second and all the falls are worth a trip), but it did offer a picturesque refreshing pool and the chance to swim under the falls. I was on my way out of the water after quick dip and swimming the gauntlet of the thundering falls when I was victimized by the infamous Aussie fauna. I was savagely attacked about the foot before I screamed and did my best Jesus impersonation running out of/on top of the water. You could almost see the red marks scaring my heel where I was bit. Chris was just as lucky, escaping mostly unscathed (thought emotional wounds surely will run deep) after the vicious falls monster engulfed with big toe, then promptly regurgitate the tainted appendage (his feet are just as nasty as mine). Carrie was the least fortunate of the group, probably a result of cleaner feet, and the fiend drew blood along the ridge of her foot before she could escape. What was this unruly beast? 'Twas no croc nor snake nor eel. A temperamental catfish with an insatiable foot fetish was the culprit. If you ever do visit, stick to the right side of the falls pool, the left is clearly his.
Beating a hasty retreat towards Chillagoe, the Whomping Wombat proved deserving of its name, Whomping 4wd tracks into submission, fjording rivers, crushing toads (a civic duty down under). Again we opted for some free "stealth" camping, this time right outside of our destination- Chillagoe-Mungana Caves National Park.
With the blistering heat and the novelty of Australian caves, heading under the Down Under seemed a proper course. There are three self guided tours in the national park, though I wish everyone better luck in extracting the info from the belligerent attendant at the information kiosk. Armed with her warnings the self guided caves were "nasty" and "not nice" we cautiously descended into the pits of despair. There was little need for despair or reservations about these caves; a fantastic network of twist, turns and chambers in one cave, and a giant rainbow coloured chamber in the other (if these are the "nasty" caves, are the others paved with gold?). Chris and Carrie each took turns performing a little subterranean a cappella, though Chris' shouldn't be repeated in polite company.
Carrie was jonesing for her internet and the quickest fix was Cooktown, a mere 4.5 hours away. We made it in 7 hours flat- owing partly to my unquenchable desire for off-the-beaten-track and a communal hankering for an olde time gold mine. The one we did manage to descend ("Keep Out" be damned) was more septic tank than mine now, and we spent 5 silent minutes scraping and scuffing the "refuse" from the soles of our shoes.
Bush fires near Cooktown
Some many hours and 'Are we lost yet's later we rolled into Cooktown (our Neverlost never failed). Too late and grumbly for anything but sleep we crashed in a slightly seedy, somewhat historic hotel. In the morning light I came to the decision Cooktown was worth skipping over if we didn't need the internet or sundries (try the Lion's Den just south instead). I may be a bit overly harsh on the town, not really giving it a proper exploration. Had I bothered to visit the Captain Cook Museum I may have learned the Dutch discovered Australia a full 164 years before Cook and that Cook is credited with only charting the east coast (instead I learned this history lesson from Lee).
We were heading south, meandering our way back in the direction of Cairns, and Cooktown was finally in its proper place, the rear view mirror. Cooktown to Cape Tribulation is dominated by Daintree National Park with the only access along the ocean being the Coast Road, suitable for 4WD and kamikaze sedans: the Whomping Wombat never says no. Sadly, the road proved far more tame than the map had led us to believe, though a secret (a short walk from an unassuming turnout) pristine mangrove beach along the way redeemed the mundaneness.
Once again rolling into a town late, Mossman this time, we spent the night in a trailer/RV park, with the luxurious tenting accommodations located on the small square of grass with the propane tank. Eager not to test the flame retardant properties of the tent, we broke camp at first light, also insuring we would be one of the first hikers to the Mossman Gorge section of Daintree National Park. When I think of "gorge" I instantly picture a Grand Canyon-like crack in the Earth. Instead, Mossman Gorge was more reminiscent of boulder strewn sections of the Occoee river, though scenic despite the false advertising.
Back in Cairns, after a sad fairwell to the Whomping Wombat, Chris, Carrie and I caught a bus, though they were heading back to University, and I was on to my next adventure.
Chris has noted that I failed to properly credit him for a few pictures in my blog. That one picture of myself, shockingly, was not taken by me. Chris does deserve full credit for that one.
P.S.- Chris is afraid of bats.
The frightening bats of Chillagoe.
The Whomping Wombat at sunset.
Frog from a night hike, as yet unidentified.
Cairns, Atherton Tablelands, Cooktown, etc.
Australia, much like America, is undeterred by rising fuel prices, and Aussies are enjoying an automotive shopping spree with fuel economy taking a back seat to thrills and power. Never one to miss out on a fad (except the Flowbee), Chris, Carrie and I sought out our very own thrill machine, even if only a temporary hire. No fuel efficient bubble on wheels would satisfy. Enter the Whomping Wombat: a seven seater 4 x 4 Nissan Patrol equipped with two fuel tanks, a V6 turbo charged diesel engine and serious off-road toad-crushing tyres. If the thoughts overkill or excessive come to mind, you are no doubt correct, but at $80 a day it was an offer not to be refused.
Armed with our own Neverlost system (a.k.a Chris with a map), we plotted our first course out of Cairns to the Atherton tablelands, a dry transitional zone between the lush coast and the arid outback. Or at least that was my initial assumption before Lake Eacham, Ellinjaa falls, Zillie falls, Millaa Millaa falls, Little Millstream falls, and Millstream falls all made a liar out of me.
Ellinjaa falls
Millaa Millaa falls certainly was not the most impressive (that honor, in my opinion, goes to Little Millstream Falls, though Zillie is a close second and all the falls are worth a trip), but it did offer a picturesque refreshing pool and the chance to swim under the falls. I was on my way out of the water after quick dip and swimming the gauntlet of the thundering falls when I was victimized by the infamous Aussie fauna. I was savagely attacked about the foot before I screamed and did my best Jesus impersonation running out of/on top of the water. You could almost see the red marks scaring my heel where I was bit. Chris was just as lucky, escaping mostly unscathed (thought emotional wounds surely will run deep) after the vicious falls monster engulfed with big toe, then promptly regurgitate the tainted appendage (his feet are just as nasty as mine). Carrie was the least fortunate of the group, probably a result of cleaner feet, and the fiend drew blood along the ridge of her foot before she could escape. What was this unruly beast? 'Twas no croc nor snake nor eel. A temperamental catfish with an insatiable foot fetish was the culprit. If you ever do visit, stick to the right side of the falls pool, the left is clearly his.
Beating a hasty retreat towards Chillagoe, the Whomping Wombat proved deserving of its name, Whomping 4wd tracks into submission, fjording rivers, crushing toads (a civic duty down under). Again we opted for some free "stealth" camping, this time right outside of our destination- Chillagoe-Mungana Caves National Park.
With the blistering heat and the novelty of Australian caves, heading under the Down Under seemed a proper course. There are three self guided tours in the national park, though I wish everyone better luck in extracting the info from the belligerent attendant at the information kiosk. Armed with her warnings the self guided caves were "nasty" and "not nice" we cautiously descended into the pits of despair. There was little need for despair or reservations about these caves; a fantastic network of twist, turns and chambers in one cave, and a giant rainbow coloured chamber in the other (if these are the "nasty" caves, are the others paved with gold?). Chris and Carrie each took turns performing a little subterranean a cappella, though Chris' shouldn't be repeated in polite company.Carrie was jonesing for her internet and the quickest fix was Cooktown, a mere 4.5 hours away. We made it in 7 hours flat- owing partly to my unquenchable desire for off-the-beaten-track and a communal hankering for an olde time gold mine. The one we did manage to descend ("Keep Out" be damned) was more septic tank than mine now, and we spent 5 silent minutes scraping and scuffing the "refuse" from the soles of our shoes.
Bush fires near Cooktown
Some many hours and 'Are we lost yet's later we rolled into Cooktown (our Neverlost never failed). Too late and grumbly for anything but sleep we crashed in a slightly seedy, somewhat historic hotel. In the morning light I came to the decision Cooktown was worth skipping over if we didn't need the internet or sundries (try the Lion's Den just south instead). I may be a bit overly harsh on the town, not really giving it a proper exploration. Had I bothered to visit the Captain Cook Museum I may have learned the Dutch discovered Australia a full 164 years before Cook and that Cook is credited with only charting the east coast (instead I learned this history lesson from Lee).
We were heading south, meandering our way back in the direction of Cairns, and Cooktown was finally in its proper place, the rear view mirror. Cooktown to Cape Tribulation is dominated by Daintree National Park with the only access along the ocean being the Coast Road, suitable for 4WD and kamikaze sedans: the Whomping Wombat never says no. Sadly, the road proved far more tame than the map had led us to believe, though a secret (a short walk from an unassuming turnout) pristine mangrove beach along the way redeemed the mundaneness.Once again rolling into a town late, Mossman this time, we spent the night in a trailer/RV park, with the luxurious tenting accommodations located on the small square of grass with the propane tank. Eager not to test the flame retardant properties of the tent, we broke camp at first light, also insuring we would be one of the first hikers to the Mossman Gorge section of Daintree National Park. When I think of "gorge" I instantly picture a Grand Canyon-like crack in the Earth. Instead, Mossman Gorge was more reminiscent of boulder strewn sections of the Occoee river, though scenic despite the false advertising.
Back in Cairns, after a sad fairwell to the Whomping Wombat, Chris, Carrie and I caught a bus, though they were heading back to University, and I was on to my next adventure.
Chris has noted that I failed to properly credit him for a few pictures in my blog. That one picture of myself, shockingly, was not taken by me. Chris does deserve full credit for that one.
P.S.- Chris is afraid of bats.
The frightening bats of Chillagoe.
The Whomping Wombat at sunset.
Frog from a night hike, as yet unidentified.
posted by Vit-One at 8:12 PM
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