The Alice and MacDonnell Ranges

We head further south to Alice Springs. The main reason for our visit to the “Capital of Outback Australia” is to stock up on vegetables, fruit, meat, muesli etc. But we cease the opportunity to visit the Alice Springs School of the Air (ASSOA), the biggest classroom in the world covering an area of more than 1 1/2 million square kilometres, roughly twice the size of Germany. Some classmates live 2,000 km apart. They meet each other four times per year in The Alice, but the bulk of education is delivered via satellite dishes and the internet. ASSOA is a public school, so most costs are covered through tax-funding. Though running costs are about three times higher than for a common public school, federal funding is basically the same. Hence the school relies on third-party financial contributions; the whole visitor centre is part of this. We book a guided tour and buy some books for Niklas and Jonas. For them this visit is particularly interesting as they haven’t seen their very own classroom for ten weeks now and are enjoying home-schooling by Claudia and me instead.

East and west of The Alice are the MacDonnell Ranges, some folds in the earth crust that extend over a distance of a few hundred kilometres from west to east. Apparently these hills were once higher than today’s Himalaya. But that was a long time ago, long before the Indian subcontinent even started moving north, in the process forming Mount Everest and the like.

Once again we realise how ancient the Australian continent is, its geology, flora, fauna. Oldest river in the world (Finke); prehistoric animals that survived the extinction of the dinosaurs, basically unaltered till today (saltwater crocodiles); the oldest still living culture in the world, the Aborigines who have lived here for approximately 20,000 to 40,000 years. It blows your mind!

A particular gem in the West MacDonnell Ranges is Ormiston Gorge.

We stay for two nights and explore the area on a few hikes. One of them leads up the slopes of the hills, down into the pound — a huge rocky amphitheatre — on the opposite side, from there over boulders through the gorge back to our campsite.

Ormiston Pound — worth a panorama photo

There is only little water in the gorge, but dark algae marks high on the red cliffs are clear indicators that after heavy rain this can be a torrent. Only the pool at the entrance to the gorge holds permanent water. Huge ghost gums line the dry river bed.

We later learn that the Ormiston Pound Hike was recently named Australia’s number one hike. If you think that we had to share the track with heaps of other hiking enthusiast, you obviously haven’t been to Down Under yet: On our 4 1/2 hour trip we meet two more people …

[Alice Springs, 28.-29. August]
[Ormiston Gorge, West Macdonnell Ranges NP, 29.-31. August]

Devil's Marbles

From Kakadu National Park we head south, once again visiting the familiar places that we had seen on the northbound journey: Edith Falls, Daly Waters, Banka Banka station. Once we have passed Three Ways, the intersection of Stuart Highway and Barkly Highway (which we had travelled on on our trip from the coast to the red centre), we are on unknown territory.

Well, not quite, as Claudia and I had been here around ten years ago. So it’s no surprise that our next stop is hand-picked, a special place: The Devil’s Marbles, today named Karlu Karlu, an area of boulders strewn all over the place. Geologists would tell you that this impression is totally wrong. In actual fact these formations are the result of a huge granite slap with vertical and horizontal cracks eroding through extreme weather conditions.

The size of these boulders ranges from one to around ten metres, and many have got symmetrical shapes. Some look as if you could easily tip them over or get them rolling by a gentle push. We try hard, but to no avail.

[Devil’s Marbles (Karlu Karlu), 27.-28. August]

Gagadju

No trip to Australia’s Top End is complete without a visit to Kakadu National Park. This huge area, far more than 20,000 km2 in size, is listed by UNESCO as a world heritage area, even twice, for its natural and cultural values. And for very good reason.

I have to admit that many years ago on Claudia’s and my first visit to this natural gem I didn’t appreciate this that much. Back then, Kakadu seemed to be a park with long distances between the points of interest, high temperatures, and gazillions of mozzies. Thanks to some excellent ranger-guided tours, this time I got a deeper understanding about the intricacies of the park and its significance for its traditional owners.

The Thylacine got extinct on mainland Australia around 4,000 years ago, so this painting must be older

For example, we learn about the Aborigine law in kinship, about their elaborate rules to prevent intermarriage. Of course the rangers explain how natural resources got utilised, as tools, weapons, food. From generation to generation, over tens of thousands of years, knowledge has been handed down: On how to prepare a toxic plant so it becomes eatable; where to find water; when to hunt turtles so they are fleshiest etc. One of the most important skills, which nowadays is used by the “white fellas” as well, is about using controlled bush fires to maintain a healthy natural environment.

When in the Seventies, before Kakadu was declared a national park, mining companies mapped sections with high uranium deposits, they matched those no-go areas that Aborigines had learned to avoid: For generations they had known that living in these areas would result in early death or miscarriages. Asking them could have saved the mining corporations millions of dollars. :-)

Today, Kakadu National Park is jointly managed by aborigines and white fellas. Some decades ago the land was given back to its traditional owners, then leased back to the National Parks Organisation. Step by step English names for certain spots are reverted to their original names, a tendency that can be observed throughout the Northern Territory: Ayers Rock has become Uluru again, the Olgas are Kata Tjuta, Nourlangie Rock is now Burrunggui.

As mentioned above, we spend a lot of time on ranger-guided tours. Apart from that we enjoy the sunset at Ubirr, overlooking Arnhem Land and Kakadu’s rocky escarpments and floodplains. In the East Alligator River, just next to Cahills Crossing, the passage into Arnhem Land, we see so many (saltwater) crocodiles that you could reach the opposite river bank by hopping from croc to croc. Definitely not a good spot for swimming!

We see even more crocs plus an abundance of other wildlife on two boat cruises on Yellow Water, the billabong and huge floodplains of the South Alligator River: One at sunset, one at sunrise.

Waiting — for you!

Finally a short note for German readers: The name Kakadu is derived from the word Gagadju, the name of one of the local Aborigine languages. It has nothing to do with the cockatoo (German: Kakadu). Though we indeed spot quite a lot of red-tailed black cockatoos — and certainly there are other varieties around as well —, don’t expect an abundance of these birds in Kakadu National Park.

[Muriella Park, Kakadu NP, 20.-21. August]
[Jabiru, Kakadu NP, 21.-23. August]
[Cooinda, Kakadu NP, 23.-24. August]

Swimming with crocs

Our plan was to visit Edith Falls (Leliyn) in Nitmiluk National Park for a few hours, hike to the upper pool, go for a quick swim in the plunge pool, and then continue north. It turns out that this place is so beautiful, so special, that we stay for almost 3 days (and a week later on our way back south from Kakadu National Park towards Alice Springs return for yet another night).

Edith Falls is a series of waterfalls that cascade through several pools into a little lake, which is perfect for swimming. The signage ensures us that the area is croc-free. Saltwater crocodile-free, that is. On our second visit to Edith Falls we learn that there are freshwater crocodiles living in the plunge pool. However, they are not interested in us human beings and during daytime usually hide in the downstream creek. So yes, we actually swam with crocs!

Rest assured, this doesn’t result in an adrenaline rush. The experience of swimming through the lake to the waterfall, of climbing up onto the rocks, of enjoying a natural shower is already stimulation enough.

A few words about saltwater crocodiles: The label “saltwater” is actually misleading. The more fitting name would be estuarine crocodiles as it’s the estuaries of rivers that are their main habitat. From there, they can go upstream for a long distance, eventually ending up in lakes like Edith Fall’s plunge pool. Croc traps and careful observation through rangers minimise the risk of having one of these anti-pets swimming with the tourists (and feeding on them …). In the wet season when the water level rises, so does the likelihood of having “salties” in the pool; it therefore gets closed for a few months.

Luckily we don’t have to worry. We enjoy the pools: In the morning, when we have breakfast at the upper pool, go for a swim afterwards, and have the whole area for ourselves till around 10 am loads of tourists arrive. In the evening, when the sun colours the cliffs into a glowing orange, and a local fella plays the didgeridoo. A place of contemplation, of reflection, not only reflections.

[Edith Falls (Leliyn), Nitmiluk National Park, 18.-20. and 24.-25. August]

Nitmiluk — place of the cicada dreaming

Nitmiluk National Park is one of the highlights of any trip to central Australia’s north, the so-called “Top End”. It features stunning gorges with water holes in between, and some of the most beautiful waterfalls.

The Katherine Gorge section of the park is particularly popular as you can hire a canoe and paddle into the gorges with their steep rock cliffs. When we arrive, we are told that pre-booking is a must and no boat would be available for the next few days. Though it is hard to believe that you have to ring up a canoe rental way in advance, we have to accept this fact. After a night on a nice campground we head further north towards Kakadu National Park, the top attraction of the Northern Territory. However, our first stop is only 50 km down the road, again in Nitmiluk National Park, but this time the Edith Falls (Leliyn) section. Just for a lunch break. At least that’s the plan …

Leliyn, upper pool

More about this amazing spot in the next blog.

[Katherine, 17.-18. August]

Dust and concrete

The tiny settlement of Daly Waters features two attractions: A pub that claims to be the oldest in the Outback, and a huge airfield, which turns out to be Australia’s first international airport.

Back in the days when the distance between Sydney and Singapore was too far, planes would touch down one last time on Australian soil to refuel in Daly Waters. Of course the airport isn’t used today anymore; the whole settlement only consists of a handful of houses. Still the old hangar attracts lots of tourists, and rumour has it that the airfields could have been used as an emergency landing site for space shuttles when the program was still running.

The pub is an eccentric little place covered in a huge array of memorabilia that tourists left there: Passports and car number plates are the more “normal” items. Collections of bras and other pieces of underwear represent a fashion show on what’s been en-vogue across the planet over the last decades.

We have a beer or two before we resort to our tent site. Unfortunately the camp site next to the pub is the dustiest place in Australia. Jonas and Niklas play soccer in the ankle-deep bull dust, and after a few minutes it's impossible to tell them apart. So when we return to Daly Waters a fortnight later, after our tour to the Top End, we stay at the roadhouse on the highway instead.

[Daly Waters, 16.-17. and 25.-26. August]

Banka Banka

200 kilometres after an uneventful stopover for the night at Barkly Homestead Roadhouse, we reach the Stuart Highway, the major artery through the centre that connects Adelaide in the South with Darwin in the North. If you think that things change, think again! The traffic is so low that oncoming car drivers wave their hand. The road continues to be unfenced, and of course there is only one lane; now however for each direction.

Our first stop is Banka Banka Station. Banka Banka is a lovely and relaxed spot. A historic cattle farm, and there is a little private museum with collectables that witness a time long gone by.

In Aussie terms Banka Banka with its 1,500 skm area is average size — but still bigger than most German councils. Today, only around 200 skm are still being used for cattle farming. We presume that the revenue through camping is more important now.

In walking distance from the station’s dwellings there is a waterhole that at dusk apparently attracts lots of wildlife. It's here that Claudia and I (after our first visit in 2005) rediscover the magnificent colours of the Outback, especially the teaming orange of the glowing rock surfaces, and the bright white of majestic eucalyptus trees.

After sunset, a community fire is lit in the farmyard, and an interesting bunch of people from all over the world sits together over a happy banter. We like the place so much that we return again after our “detour” up north to Kakadu National Park.

[Barkly Homestead Roadhouse, 14.-15. August]
[Banka Banka Outstation, 15.-16. and 26.-27. August]

Copper, lead, zinc and silver

The first impression of Mount Isa can easily be a slap in the face: In a typical German town centre you’d find the marketplace with the church, town hall nearby, perhaps a museum. The whole town is arranged around these fix-points that represent our cultural values. Mount Isa is a mining town — and there is no doubt about it!

Mount Isa Mines, hard to miss — even without binoculars

We drive through undulating landscape with impressive rock formations before we eventually cross a crest into town. The next moment all we see is Mount Isa mine, light-lit, huge, dominant. Only slowly do we realise that there are other buildings arranged around this centre of gravity: supermarkets, service stations, residential areas in the far distance. Mount Isa, population 12,000, is by far the biggest town on our way west. A huge proportion of this country’s wealth is based on mining and exporting natural resources, and it’s interesting to be that close to one of the pace-makers of Australia’s economy. Yet after a good night’s rest we decide to leave and head further west where we soon leave Queensland and enter the Northern Territory.

Bye-bye Queensland!

[Mount Isa, 13.-14. August]

Road trains

From Karumba we return to Normanton to enjoy lunch at the historic train station.

Historic Gulflander train connecting Normanton and Croydon

Heading further south, there are little signposts indicating the distance to the next major milestone along this stretch of highway: BW 190, BW 180, BW 170, … From our map we know that “BW” stands for the Burke & Wills Roadhouse. Again one of those examples that underline how misleading a map of Australia can be: That big blob on the map actually stands for one house in the middle of nowhere, and it’s signposted almost 200 km in advance. Sure, they sell fuel at that house, and beer and cold drinks. And you can enjoy Australian delicacies like spaghetti with baked beans for breakfast. And of course they let you set up your tent on the dusty area behind the premises. Still, it’s 1 (in words: one) house, yet worth an entry in a continent’s street directory!

The Burke & Wills actually turns out to be a friendly place. We like the atmosphere; the place has got character. After dinner at our tent we have a beer in the roadhouse and watch a truly Aussie Outback spectacle: The coming and going of road trains.

A road train is actually a truck with several trailers. Sounds simple, but is in actual fact quite impressive and, if you’ve got such a giant monster driving behind or towards you, veeery intimidating. Road trains easily measure more than 50 metres in length, and we see semi-trailers with 3 or even 4 massive trailers behind them. Some of them carry enough fuel to blow Sydney’s CBD to smithereens. Most of them, however, haul zinc ore from a mine further south to a processing plant north-west of the Burke & Wills.

You don't want to mess around with these!

We are a bit worried that the constant noise of road trains might keep us awake throughout the night. But the traffic along the highway — we are talking 10 cars per hour — almost comes to a standstill after sunset and completely dies in the early hours of the night. There is simply too much nocturnal wildlife to let you drive safely.

[Burke & Wills Roadhouse, 12.-13. August]

Sunset

If you live, like we do, on mainland Australia’s east coast, you will never ever see a sunset over the ocean. So having the opportunity, we make a small detour on our way west and head from Normanton up to Karumba on the Gulf of Carpentaria. This expanse of water is quite different from the Pacific Ocean in Sydney: The Norman River flows into the sea, which is rather shallow, muddy, and framed by mangroves.

The village of Karumba is hardly worth visiting if it wasn’t for above mentioned sunset. Huge camper vans with stickers like "Grey no(t)mad", "Bruce and his Sheila", or "Adventure before dementia" are clear tell-tale signs that it is firmly in the grip of grey nomads.

Half an hour before this daily highlight the beach fills up with people, mostly said grey nomads, most of them with a bottle of beer or a glass of wine from the nearby pub in their hands. We bring our own booze and enjoy the sunset.

Sorry for the kitsch ...

But we agree: If it wasn’t on our way, we’d probably simply ignore this rather dull place. The Lonely Planet travel guide already warned us that if fishing and prawning aren’t your cup of tea, you should rather avoid it. I especially like a quote about Karumba’s beach: “Don’t even think about swimming! If the sharks don’t get you, the crocs will …”

[Karumba, 11.-12. August]

Street maps (and what they don't tell you)

Looking at a street map of Australia you may get the impression that the vast area in its centre isn’t as empty as people want to make you believe. Even the Savannah Highway that we are travelling along is dotted with names: Mount Surprise, Georgetown, Croydon, Normanton. However, what the map doesn’t tell you is that most of these names represent settlements with sometimes only a few houses and a population of only a few hundred people.

Just a short reminder: We are travelling along one of only 2 (in words: two) proper roads that connect Queensland — a state with a north-south extension of approx. 2,000 km and an area approximately 5 times that of Germany — with the centre of Australia. Yet roadsigns constantly remind us that the road is unfenced and that cattle has to be expected on the road (very true …). The road sometimes narrows down to 1 (in words: one) lane — that both directions have to share! So if there is oncoming traffic, you (and your “opponent”) are expected to veer off onto the shoulder, at least with the left wheels.

Did I say left wheels?

The landscape is still dominated by bushes and dry grass, blackened trees and termite mounts. According to our car’s thermometer, the outside temperature in the non-existent shade hits the 32 degree mark — though we are in the middle of winter. Out here, Australia’s highest temperatures were recorded: More than 50 degrees. In the shade. Wherever they found some …

We start to appreciate the achievements of Australia’s early explorers. They didn’t have roads, cars, not even maps or any clue what they might expect. From behind our car’s windscreen the landscape looks fascinating, even beautiful. But “out there” it is hot, dry, unforgiving. Burke, Wills, Leichhardt, they and many others paid with their lives.

We start wondering, why would anybody want to live here?

Take Croydon, Queensland, our stopover for the night. At the town entrance a sign lists several “Cleanest town in Queensland” awards. In the late 19th century, Croydon was actually a major hub, the biggest town in the Gulf Savannah region (an area of around 186,000 km2). Reason was the discovery of gold that attracted more than 3,000 miners into the area. Back then, Croydon and surrounds had a population of 7,000 and around 30 pubs. But once the gold was gone, people started leaving the area. Today all that remains are a few historic buildings, amongst them the former town hall with its clock tower, the clock aptly frozen at 1:35 — time has come to a stand-still. Today, Croydon’s population measures around 220. We suppose that there are still lots of farmers, farmhands, perhaps a few miners. Plus all the services and supporting industries: barbers, a grocery store, service station, families, hence teachers etc. Despite its smallness a well-functioning community, certainly close-knit. We leave Croydon with a better understanding of rural Australia.

[Croydon, 10.-11. August]

Boiling milk

After leaving Lake Eacham our way leads us further south-west where we eventually cross the hills that form the northern part of the Great Dividing Range, the escarpment that separates the coastal strip from the often unwelcoming hinterland along Australia’s east coast.

This is in fact a turning point in our journey: Faster than expected we are now entering the “real Australia”. 85 percent of this country’s population live on its coastal fringes, not more than 50 km from the sea. The part that we are now driving through is characterised by savannah: The road leads through a landscape covered in bushes and thin trees. Most of the trunks are blackened by previous bush fires. Countless birds of prey feast on the road kill, mostly kangaroos. Millions of termite mounts make the countryside look like a historic graveyard. A beautiful scenery from the air-conditioned seat in your car, but harsh and unforgiving outside.

Rural backyard

Highway (not kidding!)

Some nice travellers at Lake Eacham camp ground had told us that Undara Volcanic National Park is well worth a visit. The area is dotted with 164 volcanoes, some of which were active until (in geologic terms) only “recently”, around 190,000 years ago. The Undara volcano itself is a so-called shield volcano, i.e. it didn’t erupt in a sudden and intense explosion. Instead lava boiled over like milk in a pot on your stove.

We are actually talking lots of lava, around 1,000 cubic metres per second, which due to the slightly sloped landscape formed trails, dozens of kilometres long, the longest of their kind in the world. (Actually Undara is the local indigenous word for “long way”.) On its way, the lava cooled on the surface and, in doing so, formed a crust under which the hot lava kept flowing. Until eventually the whole performance was over and all that was left were those crusts, tunnels in the landscape. Though many of them collapsed thanks to erosion or tree roots finding their way into the ground, there are still some sections that can be visited today. Which is what we do, of course.

Subway station (under construction)

[Undara Volcanic National Park, 8.-10. August]

Atherton Tablelands

Cape Tribulation is a turning point on our journey, and it’s time to say goodbye to the Pacific Ocean. A few kilometres further south, at Port Douglas, we turn right and leave the James Cook Highway. Quickly the road becomes more narrow, winding, and very steep. Yet there are still many semi-trailers hauling sugar cane; the harvesting season is in full swing.

Our destination are the Atherton Tablelands. Up here on 700-800 m altitude the mountains, which down at sea level used to be a dramatic backdrop casting long shadows early in the afternoon, become part of an undulating landscape that reminds me of Germany’s Allgäu area, the footsteps to the Alps. Many of them are clearly of volcanic origin, and indeed today’s tour leads us to Lake Eacham, a crater lake and remnant of seismic activity only 10,000 years ago. Shortly before we arrive, we enter a pocket of dense rainforest that we haven’t expected to see again, let alone in this landscape, which is dominated by farming and little historic villages.

A hike around the lake the next morning reveals the stunning beauty of this area: Freshwater turtles bask on fallen logs in the blue-green water. Massive curtain figs must have been here since prehistoric times.

However, the animal we have hoped to find doesn’t show up: platypus.

Local knowledge comes to our rescue: Not far from Lake Eacham, at Yungaburra, there is a little creek. It’s here where we are lucky enough to see some of these fascinating animals, half duck, half beaver, egg laying, but mammals, frolicking in the water (that looks like English breakfast tea with milk).

A warm camp fire is another highlight of this day. The following one we stock up on food before we tackle the most intimidating part of our journey, the long trip west to the red centre.

[Lake Eacham, 6.-8. August]

How to get to the Red Centre

Next time somebody asks me how to get from Sydney to Australia’s red centre, I can easily answer him: Drive 3,659 kilometres north, then turn left.

3,659 kilometres, that’s how far we have gone to reach our northern-most milestone along the east coast: Cape Tribulation in Daintree National Park. The last 100 of these kilometres are spectacular. I have seen quite a few scenic roads, in South Africa, in California, in Australia’s south. The Captain Cook Highway between Cairns and Cape Tribulation plays in the same league. You have only just left the city when a sign indicates that the next 28 km will lead you through world heritage listed area. Turning around the next bend leaves you speechless: The ocean is on your right, the dense rainforest on the left. In the distance, the hills of the Daintree National Park rise from the sea.

Croc warning in German — seems to be necessary

We cross the Daintree River on the car ferry and enter a different world: Now the rainforest has absorbed us. It’s the oldest rainforest in the world, around 135 million years old. The narrow road is dark, windy, full of potholes, dips, humps. We now understand why, according to Google Maps, the 100 km route takes you 2 1/2 hours.

Compared to other capes in the area, there is nothing spectacular about Cape Tribulation. The reason why it is on so many people’s list is the fact that a few metres from here the road ends — at least for conventional vehicles. There is still an 800 km stretch of coast before you eventually arrive at Cape York, the northern-most point of mainland Australia. But it’s all four-wheel drive only.

Cape Trib beach in peak season

So it is no surprise that at our camp site there are basically 2 types of vehicles: The shiny, white rental camper vans hired by overseas tourists (coming from the south), and the can’t-tell-the-colour-anymore 4WD off-road monsters with 3 spare wheels and several spare petrol tanks (coming from the north). Our station wagon is a rare exemption. In the upcoming weeks it will collect more than enough dust to resemble the second category car. More in my next blogs.

Friendly smile, certainly makes a good pet

[Daintree National Park, Cape Tribulation, 4.-6. August]

Narnia

Some of you may have read C. S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia, especially “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe”, where 4 playing kids hide in an old wardrobe from where they suddenly enter the fascinating world of Narnia. The same happens to you once you step into the foreign world of a rain forest.

Wooroonooran National Park had been on the itinerary right from the start of our trip planning. As part of the wet tropics it is UNESCO-listed. Closer to Cairns we realise that it has got several access points. We decide to visit the Palmerston section.

The picturesque camp ground at Henrietta Creek reminds us of the one at Paluma Ranges. Nicely cleared, grassy spots, picnic benches, all the amenities you may expect from a national park camp ground. While we are having lunch, a huge shiny blue butterfly hovers above our heads.

As we embark on a hike to one of the waterfalls, we enter a completely different world: As soon as the campground is left behind, the dense canopy of the rain forest offers constant shade. This is the world of decay and renewal, of mosses and lichens, of ferns and lianes that compete for the little sunlight that hits the ground. The world of uprooted trees, leaning trunks, fallen logs, entangled figs, some of which strangle their hosts. It’s here where the cassowary is king. As a human being you feel somehow out of place.

Red tulip oak

One of the many no-name falls in this region

Nandroya Falls (in the background) and cascades

Wallicher Falls

Not far from here you will find the aptly named Waterfall Highway. The hills around Cairns, amongst them Queensland’s highest peek Mount Bartle Frere, are dotted with waterfalls. Close to our camp site, Henrietta Creek, there are 4 very scenic examples. Of course we visit them all. And the rainforest canopy walk, the Mamu Tropical Skywalk, which is nearby. We then leave this natural wonderland and head down to Cairns to stock up for the coming days and get grandma Elke and grandpa Siegfried's camper van repaired.

[Wooroonooran National Park (Palmerston section), Henrietta Creek camping area, 1.-2. August]
[Cairns, 2.-.4. August]

Serendipity

Yet another unexpected experience awaits us at Etty Beach just east of Innisfail: We urgently need a powered camp site and internet connection to take care of the chores of daily life administration, like paying bills and checking bank accounts. However, the camp grounds around Innisfail, all lined up along the Bruce Highway, don’t really cut it. So we make the detour to Etty Bay. Etty Bay is a small ocean beach bordered by some rocks at one end and the rain forest on the other one. According to the number of barbecues and picnic tables the place must be popular on weekends. For whatever reason there is a surf life saving club — the waves are hardly 50 cm high. But in essence Etty Bay is a caravan park with a kiosk that sells take-away meals and offers wi-fi. And that is what we are after.

The next morning we get up early and start packing up our gear when out of a sudden 2 cassowaries leave the undergrowth that borders the camp ground. These mystical birds are highly endangered, and their numbers are very small. After some minutes of careful observation — cassowaries are known to have killed people with their sharp claws — we eventually become more adventurous and start following them. Gracefully they inspect the camp ground like patrolling “their” little kingdom, before they eventually, not shy at all, start mating just metres from our tent … How shall we explain Niklas and Jonas this strange behaviour?! :-)

What next?

Young talent

"Don't I look intimidating?"

[Etty Bay, 31. July - 1. August]