We amble along Lugger Bay; like so many other beaches, all but deserted. The usual million photos are taken. Half way along, we meet a fairly bizarre set of tracks in the sand, which provokes a lively (actually, feverishly-warped might be a more accurate soubriquet) debate as to what it might be. We eventually narrow it down to 3 possibilities; roo, cassowary, or croc.
Croc mainly because whatever it is seemed to be dragging its tail occasionally - although one might expect a heavier impression from a croc. And one or two of us are dubious that a croc can actually get up and walk on two legs. Pessimists, if you ask me; just because noone's photographed them doing it... Cassowary, because the prints seem to have roughly the same shape as the stylised 'wary prints on the road signs - we're scientists; we know about that sort of thing. On the down side, the cassowary seems to lack the dangly-down, draggy-along tail necessary (so we surmise) to make that kind of a trail. A tangential conversation debates whether cassowaries can kill people; we decide that they probably can, if they have a mind to. We hope it wasn't a cassowary, and try to give off nonchalent cassowary-neutral vibes.Which leaves the roo. Occam's Razor suggests that's what it might be, so we breathe a slight sigh of relief - tinged with a little regret - that it's the least dangerous of the 3 options. A bit further on, we get distracted, trying to get close enough to photograph a pair of Masked Plovers, and momentarily forget the mortal danger we've been in.
At the far end of Lugger Bay the mangroves and the creek look like prime croc territory. Huh; another bloody mythical beast.
Pausing for a few refreshments back at Mission Beach, we head off about midday, up the Bruce to Innisfail, then inland towards Atherton. Wow, what a change of scene! The rich pastures and rolling uplands could almost be a cross between Devon and Scotland, but with so many other indefinable aspects, we could be just about anywhere. First stop is Millaa Millaa; which has a frontier town feel, and a Cheese Museum (closed for lunch; oh the irony). The town doesn't seem to have much in the way of food today, so we graze on what we can find sculling around in the back of the car. What it does have, though, is a fabulous opal shop, prosaically called The Opal Shop. As well as polished and uncut opals, and a wide variety of jewellery, it's got aboriginal art, and didges. It's the first place I've really felt like buying souvenirs, with the feeling that I'm getting something genuine, and it would be worth the drive in itself. We'll be back for more...Next stop, Yungaburra. Digging a little deeper in the back of the car, we find something a bit more nourishing than crisps, and head out to see the astonishing Curtain Fig tree, which has an alien air about it, and no mistake. Photos of it really do no justice to the sight of it. Signs tell us that something called a tree kangaroo lives in it. Yeah, buddy, right; and monkeys might fly outta my butt.
More purgatory for the back seat passengers on the way down the incredibly tortuous roads towards Gordonvale, stopping at Heales Lookout for the view, which rivals the descent from Eungella a few days ago. We head in to Cairns just about 4.30, to find the Villa Morocco. Jings, it's a bit posher than we expected, but it's a very nice antidote to the number of times we've said "We've been in worse places"... The brochure and website (Ah! Those cruel deceiving webmasters!) mention that it overlooks the Esplanade, and offers "breathtaking, unobstructed views over Trinity Inlet and the Coral Sea", but somehow neglect to say that it's a regenerating mangrove swamp. No matter; it's home for a week, and we like it. Leaving Chris, James and Rowena, we head straight out to the supermarket, thanking a number of deities for the luck of our timing, as we get there with 10 minutes to spare before they close, and wheel out a trolley full of supposedly 'vital' impulse purchases. Many of these are ruefully dumped in the bin on the day we leave a week later, still in their wrappings, as we wonder what on earth we bought that for. Back at Villa Morocco, we crack open the wine, fire up the gas-fired BBQ, and do proper steaks, and lamb chops. That's how you barbecue, people; don't fuck with us.James's sore throat hasn't got any better, and it seems to have been joined by a Mysterious Lump on his neck. He heads off to bed; we sit on the balcony, in the warm night air, watch the fruitbats flapping around in the palms over the road, and ponder the marvels of the shiraz grape.
