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| Siggy's DR group performance with Aurielle as a Cockatoo (Photo from Keaton Doyle) |
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| John Hall, John Track and Nick (Photo from Keaton Doyle) |
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| Keaton and Ashley |
The
absolute final day crept up faster than expected. It just so happened that
Sam's 21st coincided with the last day. I suggested we celebrate by venturing
to the hollow fig one last time. I remember my first visit to the tree that I
managed to find despite a poorly marked trail (which I eventually renovated so
that others could find it). I was immediately impressed by it. The hollow fig
tree is much closer to our site than the cathedral fig and arguably much more
worthy of pursuit simply because your are able to climb it. Climbing up the
hollow fig is a lot like climbing through a tunnel vertically except the tunnel
gradually decreases its circumference as you go in further. The ease of
climbing makes it easy to forget how high you are. But once you get up at about
50 ft you can already see the rainforest from an entirely new perspective.
Another 50 ft up and you will be blown away by how spectacular the canopy is from
a bird's eye view. Sam and I took turns experiencing what I wish every person
SFS student or otherwise would experience: a view of a landscape so vast and
complex that it humbles you into the realization that no matter how hard you
try you can never fully understand or appreciate the unmatched value of the
wilderness.
That final experience was my last impression of CRS. The morning after we would all depart the site and go our separate ways. Some had flights to go straight home, whilst others had domestic flights. I however was adamant against flying because as previously implied, I hate planes. So I arranged for alternate transportation via train. So John Track dropped me off at the train station behind Cairns Central Mall, which is where I would say my final goodbyes. If left my SFS compatriots with one goal in mind: see all, experience all, never stop. I may also add that I really had no plan for where exactly I would go, how long I would stay where I went or who I would run into along the way.
With that, I boarded my train and was
southward bound. I guess now would be the time to compare American Trains to
Australian ones. The Queensland Sunlander (which is the train from Cairns to
Brisbane that I was on) rated high in my book. Not only were there fantastic
views of the Queensland rainforests and amazing birding opportunities, but
there was also decent food and I ate well (which really says something given
that I am quite possibly the pickiest eater on the face of the Earth).
Additionally, the train was comfortably spacious. The Amtrak that I took from
Boston to LA on my way to Australia was not as great. The seats and dining
areas were so tightly crammed that it made it nearly impossible for people to
pass each other without someone awkwardly moving off the aisle in front of a
stranger's seat and crossing the gap between carts was somewhat terrifying when
the train is mobile and going around a turn. I will say however that I met more
people in the Amtrak and had my first favorable gambling experience on it
(though I only won about $8).
But
getting back to Australia, my train arrives at its terminal in Brisbane the
following evening. After some hassle to find the exit to the street, I check
into the first hostel I see, called "Tinbilly's" and was conveniently
right across from "Peter Pan's Adventure Travel", which became my
go-to building when I needed free internet. My original plan was to spend just
one night in Brisbane and then board a bus to Sydney the following day, but
that was before I noticed a train stop for "Australia Zoo" on my way
into the city. Now normally I wouldn't get so hyped up for an artificial
preserve full of mostly captive-bred animals, but it just so happens that Steve
Irwin worked there and it was because of him that it became famous. I have come
to realize that Australians have mixed attitudes towards Steve Irwin, but for
me he was and continues to be one of biggest inspirations. It all started when
I watched "The Crocodile Hunter" as a kid and committed myself to
watching his show. I still remember all the re-runs they played on Animal
Planet the day he died ironically from a generally easy-going species, being a
stingray. I was truly devastated. His legend has not died however and his wife,
Terri and kids, Bindi and Bob have been leaving their own marks to promote
conservation. I noticed the Australia Zoo did not underplay their usage of
advertisements with pictures of the Irwin family at all.
So I enjoyed my day at the zoo. It was here that I saw Tasmanian Devils, Echidnas, a Komodo Dragon and of course the infamous Crocodile-feeding demonstration. The guy who fed the crocs did not get nearly as close as Steve did, but I didn't blame him. When you're dealing with a creature that could bite your head off without hardly an ounce of effort, it is wise to keep your distance. Though I daresay I admire and mirror people who confront the dangers of nature with an air of fearlessness as Steve Irwin did.
Once I arrived back in the heart of the city I was not yet ready to return to my hostel. Instead I figured I'd check out the Treasury Casino. This was the largest Casino I had visited so far. It had a large game room for Roulette, Blackjack and other card games next door to the bar complete with a dance floor. The place was also jam-packed with slot machines at every corner of the multi-level building. It was daunting to see all the ways you could become addicted to gambling, but I do not believe I will ever be susceptible. My strategy is to limit myself to $30 whenever I start fresh at a Casino. If I lose it I quit and if I win $10 I quit. The rest of the time I drink or people-watch, gawking at how some people can pour out hundreds of dollars to a dealer only to lose it and all the time with the same indifferent expression so common amongst gamblers. My advice on gambling: don't get hooked.
The
following day I met up with Tim from TREAT who I hadn't seen in several months.
He introduced me to the City Cat, which is a form of transportation that
operates by boat. The ferry shuttles people up and down the Brisbane River.
What I quickly realized about Tim is that he is quite possibly more of an OCP
than I am (OCP being an abbreviation for "Obsessive Compulsive
Photographer"). Even though the City Cat was no novel experience for him,
he still took many more pictures than I. So we rode the City Cat around its
entire route as Tim pointed out all the significant buildings and sights, most
notably for me being the cliff faces where people could rock-climb right next
to the river. I was tempted to stay one more day in Brisbane just so I could
climb, but I was behind schedule and knew I had to move on.
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| Rock-climbing cliff |
By 6:00
that evening I was on a bus to Sydney, which turned out to be much shorter than
I had expected. I arrived in the city the following morning around 10:00. As
soon as I got off at the terminal, I asked someone at the info desk how I could
go about getting reservations to walk the Harbor Bridge, an activity my coach
had strongly advised me to do since he had done it himself when he was in
Sydney waiting to ref a fencing tournament. The guy at the front desk directed
me to the internet kiosks and gave me the website. I signed up to go on the
Discovery Tour that very afternoon.
Before
we were allowed to board the bridge, we were required to give up any loose
possessions including cameras so unfortunately I could not take pictures. We
were equipped with jumpsuits and a belt where everything we needed was
attached. We were then given a practice run of a climbing structure similar to
the bridge. We had to lock ourselves in by sliding our weights on our belts into
the railing on the right-hand side of the mock bridge. Once we had mastered the
process of ascending and descending we were finally ready to experience the
real thing.
I spent
my remaining time in Sydney trying to be a little less touristy. I feel as
though Bondi Beach despite its fame is not the place for a lay beach-going
tourist to seek out. The waves there rival those of Hawaii and were powerful
enough to dissuade most people from swimming. The vast majority of people in
the water were surfers. I had intended to go just to swim but given the
intensity of the waves I decided surfing would be a better option.
When I
went to inquire about lessons I was informed that I had just missed the group
going out with the instructor so I took my chances trying to teach myself. I
mimicked the other surfers as best as I could, but still struggled hard in the
beginning especially since I had never before encountered waves over twice my
height. Several times I failed to launch myself and felt the sheer power of the
wave consume me. I felt as though a brick wall had just collapsed on me. After
these failed attempts I retreated to shallower water to regain my confidence. I
caught the waves long after they had broken so I was just riding the white suds
to the shore. I found that these waves were too slow and so I had to make my
way back out to where the waves rose way above my head. After being battered
around a decent bit, I finally got the hang of keeping myself on board but the
closest I got to surfing was acquiring an upright position on my knees, which
was close enough for me. It was hard enough just staying on the board let alone
standing up on it. I learned that what is most important for staying on the
board is maintaining a center of gravity towards the back so that the nose of
the board remains above water.
Once I
had mastered staying aboard I started to really enjoy surfing. The acceleration
was exhilarating as the wave caught my board and drove it to shore. The
combination of terror over feeling a lack of control of the waves and the
novelty of surfing for the first time got me hooked. I spent a whole 2 and half
hours riding waves and trying my hardest to achieve a position as close as
possible to a standing position. Though I did not accomplish this, I still
accomplished the best surfing of my life at Bondi Beach and was again
contemplating the possibility of staying longer. But the journey had to
continue, as I only had a few more precious days to spend in the Down Under.
The ferry ride was pleasant, but I was
relieved when I finally made it to Cradle Mountain. I did enjoy my time in the
cities, but it was definitely time to get back to nature. Unfortunately the
weekend I chose to visit the natural areas in Tassie just so happened to be a
weekend where they were expecting a blizzard, which I was oblivious to.
Snowflakes began to trickle down as I hiked the circuit around Dove Lake, but I
thought nothing of them until they started accumulating. Even so I enjoyed my
hike and saw a Green Rosella straight off. My only regret for my Friday hike
was underestimating the time it would take me to complete the circuit and as a
consequence I missed the last bus to the ranger's station by a half-hour. And
so I had to add five or so miles to my hike as I walked back in the dark along
the road with snow flying in my face. Just as I was about to lose hope and
surrender myself to the blizzard I saw a creature that would lift my spirits
enough to keep me going. A Northern Quoll popped appeared a short distance in
front of me running along the road. It ran right towards me and stopped just an
arm's length away and paused to give me an inquisitive look before starting off
again. That close encounter with a rare animal was enough to encourage me to
tough out the few remaining miles back to civilization. That would be the last
day I neglect to catch the shuttle bus.
Day 2
in Tassie, the blizzard picks up. The previous morning not an ounce of snow
could be seen anywhere, but since then it had accumulated to a foot and did not
show signs of stopping. I decided I would take my chances, but I did invest in
a full polypropylene underthermal suit to make up for my lack of warm clothes. My
goal for the day was to get to Marion's Lookout, which takes about 6 hours in
good weather so I knew I would have to allow a bit more time. So I went back to
dove lake where the hike begins. The human traffic had already caused the snow
on the trail to turn to slush. I tried avoiding it at first due to my sneakers
being inadequate footwear for wet conditions, but I gave up after they became
soaked despite my attempts to keep them dry. My underthermals seemed to be
doing wonders though since I did not really feel cold at all.
I
walked halfway around dove lake to find the trail leading to Cradle Mountain
Summit. I immediately noticed a stark difference between the well-maintained,
heavily trampled dove lake circuit trail and the snow-buried, neglected Summit
trail. Refusing to let the unfavorable conditions deter me, I continued up the
trail though I was up to my knees in snow. There was only one set of tracks to
follow and eventually even they disappeared. The trail was all but impossible
to follow: I did my best to find the markers on the trees, but most of the time
I had to intuitively perceive where it is. I continued on like this for what
must have only been a few miles, but felt like much longer. There came a time
where I was certain I had lost the trail completely, but was relieved to see a
bridge leading over a frozen stream. I walked across and climbed up a ways to
see the view, but the heavy snow precipitation made it hard to appreciate and
the trail had again become imperceptible. It was at this point where I decided
that it was in my best interest to abandon my quest if I was going to make it
back safely.
My last
day there I was determined to at least achieve a hike up Marion's Lookout if I
could not find the trail to Cradle Mountain Summit. I proceeded to Dove Lake
for the third and final time with a promise to myself that I would not fail to
reach the peak. The snowstorm seemed to favor my ambition as it had nearly
stopped that day. The cold wind continued, but at least my many layers of
inadequate winter clothing would not be soaked through again.
I
walked partway down the dove lake circuit and turned off of it towards Lake
Lilla and then to the Wombat Pool. I accompanied a small group of tourists who
went partway up but deemed the final stretch too dangerous given the
conditions. Indeed it was not much better than the trail I had tackled the day
before, but I figured as long as I could find it I could hike it. So we
contemplated at a flat stretch overlooking lake lilla and they decided to turn
around. I continued on.
This
time the trail was easier to see. There were several pairs of tracks leading to
my destination and I eventually met their creators. They were all decked out in
gear that would have you thinking that they were climbing Mt. Everest, but I am
not one to be intimidated. I endured the remaining uphill climb in my sneakers,
REI cargo pants and hoody with nothing but my underthermals keeping me warm. If
you're thinking I'm crazy, then you're completely justified.
I made
it to what looked to be stair-like rock arrangement, though it was obstructed
by the snow. The railing along the side helped mildly as I did my best to find
solid ground for my feet and avoid slipping. I half walked half dragged myself
up the treacherous staircase until I finally made it to the peak, which made it
all worth it. I cannot compare the view from Marion's Lookout to its snowless
appearance, but I can say that even with the snow smog it was quite marvelous. It
was one thing to walk the trails, but another experience entirely to see them
from above as you look down into the valley.
After admiring the view for at least ten minutes, I made my way back down. Instead of going back to dove lake however I decided it would be a better idea to walk by the crater falls and so I did so. I got to get a closer look of the crater lake as I made my way there. As I got closer I found that the density of King Billy Pine Trees became richer and consequently the thickness of the snow lessened since it had chosen to settle in the canopy instead. I was less impressed by the falls than I normally would have been given what I had just experienced but they were impressive nonetheless. The light snow concealment of the moss covering the trees and rocks added to the aesthetic beauty of the scene.
The remainder of my hike was primarily a flat walk or downhill walk. As soon as I excited the forest, the snow became deep again on the sides of the trail, but the trail had enough human congestion to prevent snow from accumulating on it. I encountered a Wombat lazily taking advantage this as it wandered directly towards me along the trail. As soon as it noticed that our paths were about to converge it meandered off into the snow until I had passed. Once it assessed that I was out of the way it promptly hopped back up onto the boardwalk and resumed its leisurely stroll. Shortly after I encountered the Wombat, I came across some of its excrement it had left behind and found that Siggy was correct: Wombat poo is indeed square.
I
cannot say that I accomplished what I had originally set out to do during my
time in Tasmania, but I had certainly accomplished feats I had not intended to
try. There was a need to return to the mainland, however, since there was one
quest I was not ready to give up. That one remaining quest was to find the
critically endangered Orange-bellied Parrot, Tasmanian Resident but temporary
visitor to the Southeastern Mainland. The bar was high since there are only 40
left.
So I
took the ferry back to Melbourne and began my hunt for the rarest parrot
species on earth. The first day was a fail, I went to Geelong and inquired
about the best places to find the parrot, but to no avail. I was directed to a
known birding hotspot, but not one that Orange-bellied Parrots were known to
frequent. Given I had spent a fair amount of money to make it there, I decided
I would enjoy the birding and do a bit more research into the Orange-bellied
Parrot later. I did add quite a few new species to my Master Bird List for
Australia, most of which were waterfowl.
The
next day I took a break and met up with my friend and classmate Geoffrey who
was studying abroad at the University of Melbourne. I was astounded at the
difference between my program and his, though I really had no reason to be
since the School for Field Studies is highly unique. As he showed me around I
could not help but feel like I was back at Cornell, perhaps solely for the
reason that I had not seen such a high density of students in such a long time.
We contemplated waiting in line for the BBQ, but decided against it. In my case
I would have just been waiting in line for a bun, since I've been a strict
vegetarian for seven plus years. So we walked instead to a crepe place, all the
while sharing our stories of our semesters abroad. In some ways I am jealous
that I missed out on experiencing the Australian culture that Geoff had been
exposed to, but at the same time I appreciated just how fortunate I was to have
been fully immersed to the rich biodiversity and unique atmosphere of the
sparse Australian Rainforest.
That evening
I determined that my next destination would be Queenscliff, a coastal town
about an hour from Melbourne. I didn't waste time getting there, as soon as I
learned that it was a popular wintering area for the 40 or so remaining
Orange-bellied Parrots I hopped on a train and made my way back to Geelong,
then caught the next bus to Queenscliff where I would spend the night. It was
dark when I got there so no chance of spotting the parrots then, but I needed
to do something. I decided to go on a nightwalk along the beach, while
occasionally pausing to pick up an interesting piece of seaweed or a cuttlefish
bone.
The next
day was the last full day I would be in Australia and my last chance to find
the parrot. I sought out the information centre to narrow down my scope of
candidate sites. The staff there proved to be of little use, but they directed
to me to the Parks Service. The man there seemed enthralled that I was asking
about the parrots and immediately went to his desk to start printing out maps
of the area and an Orange-bellied Parrot information packet that showed how to
distinguish them from other Neophema parrots that were commonly spotted in the
area. He also equipped me with a birding checklist for the province and a
picture guide. Before handing me the map he marked it with all the areas with
reported sightings and recommended I check out the golf course if I could get
across the bridge. I thanked him and went to try my luck though I was not
certain that the few hours I had to spend would be sufficient.
I went first
to try and get to the golf course, but as the Parks Service Officer had
anticipated but optimistically hoped against, I was not allowed across. The
reason for my denied entry was that I was not in the military nor was I a
member of the golf course (not exactly sure why a military base would be next
to a public recreational facility but I did not inquire too deeply into the
matter). So I instead walked along Swan Bay. I took a few minutes to photograph
the population of Black Swans and then just as I was walking towards the train
tracks I caught sight of something bright green fly over me.
Sure
enough a parrot, brilliantly grass-green in color had swooped over my head and
I chased it with my Nikon in hand. At this point I was writhing with excitement
as I had just encountered one of the last remaining members of the world's most
endangered parrot species. I could not believe my luck that just 10 minutes
after I left the Parks Service building I had spotted the parrot maybe three
quarters of a mile away. I stood by the tree I thought I'd seen it land in and
scanned with my binoculars for half an hour to see if it was still perched
though it did not re-show itself. I was still content that I had accomplished
my biggest birding feat on my last day. It really was the perfect ending to my
four-month long visit to the country that I may someday call home.
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