The Detouring Doctor

Over the years I have been to Queensland perhaps half a dozen times. A quintessential Queensland tradition seems to be the early morning walk on one of the many world class beaches. Locals will get up around 5 am, tourists a bit later. It is a relaxing but healthy way to start the day. This morning we joined the activity on the magic 4 mile beach here at Port Douglas. The human highway is already in full swing and we join the queue. Overcast skies start our walk but the clouds rapidly burn off to another bright sunny day in paradise.

The other thing that Port Douglas is famous for is fine dining and lunch at the Epicurean does not disappoint.

We round off our afternoon with a cheap and cheerful paddleboat cruise on the river. It is gloomy and the clouds hang heavy but it all seems to mirror the gloomy mangrove swamp lining the river. Nonetheless it is a pretty ecosystem.

And so after 2 short weeks it is back home and to work but it is not all that long until early October and a 6 week trip through Eastern Europe and the Balkan states.

Visible from space, one of the planet’s natural wonders the reef is iconic and occupies a special place in the nation’s consciousness. We are the custodians of this unique ecosystem and consequently it can be used to advance the causes of many political movements. Multiple bleaching events and the demise of the reef has been widely reported over the last few years so I don’t know what I am going to see today. I am not a climate denialist and appreciate that rising sea temperatures are harming coral ecosystems around the planet so today promises to be a major disappointment compared to the last time I was on the reef 16 years ago.

We have booked to go to the outer reef from Port Douglas, Mackay Reef. A smooth 2 hour transit on our comfortable catamaran has us arriving in turquoise waters with an obvious reef and a small sandy cay. The waters are warm as I snorkel to the reef. The vista is beautiful with a full range of corals on display. I am no expert but I have snorkeled reefs all around the world from Africa to Asia and the Pacific. Our reef looks as healthy as any of them. There is no bleaching here today and the reef looks as healthy as ever.

“Marooned” on our deserted sandy cay

We were here 16 years ago, soon after the road from Cairns was fully sealed. At that time this was a quiet little backwater that had aspirations to become the next Noosa/Port Douglas destination. In 2023 there is certainly more tourist infrastructure here but it is in no way a tourist trap.

We start our day with a drive north to Hopevale. On the way we catch up with a couple of pretty little waterfalls. The aboriginal town of Hopevale is smart and tidy and surprisingly interesting.

After lunch it is off to the local museum. I am keen to spend time here and absorb the exhibits as Captain Cook features prominently here. Lately cancel culture morons have been tearing down Cook’s statues in Australia alleging he is a genocidal invader. Reassuringly the statue  on the main street here is upright and not defaced. Cook spent two months here in 1770 after the HMS Endeavour struck a reef here hence the name of this town. THe museum has relics from the Endeavour as well as detailed records of Cook’s logs that dispel any notion that Cook in any way had any violent notions let alone acts towards the natives. Cook was a brilliant explorer, navigator and master mariner and I celebrate him as such.

Cooktown Orchid

It’s a 1 hour 40 minute drive to Laura and on the drive I mull over how to organise my photography for the festival. I am now using my DSLR in tandem with my new top notch mobile phone camera. The latter rules with indoor and low light photography and is becoming more seductive.

We arrive at the Laura Quinkan site and my problem is settled, while I have brought my camera bag my DSLR is back at our accommodation! It is the mobile phone and my face betrays my disappointment and anxiety.

Laura Quinkan does not disappoint. It is a celebration of indigenous dance and culture. Held every 2 years it is a competition between indigenous groups to win the competition and the shield. The performers are there to prove they are the best. The spectators are add ons. This is not a tourist show it is an authentic celebration of their culture. What follows is an indulgent range of photos, amazingly off my mobile and I am very happy. I apologise in advance for the number of pictures but they are inspirational!

After 5 hours of aboriginal dance, we are ready to move on. A short drive takes us to split rock and the 13000 year old aboriginal rock art.

Ping goes my phone. It is my Google door bell camera detecting someone. Ho hum another delivery man, I think but as I tune in I see a man in a gas mask and orange overalls thumping at our front door some 5000 km away. For a second I think this is a bad joke and then I see smoke swirling in the background.

The dramas started much earlier with a midnight text from Qantas to announce that today’s 11am flight has been cancelled. Deja vu as only 3 weeks ago we had 2 flights cancelled. I shake my head in disbelief sand to wake up. Turning the light on I read and absorb the message carefully. Rebooked to a 3pm flight, that’s OK but hang on, what date? July 6th, my sleep addled brain processes the information carefully. Yes it is today and only a 4 hour delay. I fire off some emails to adjust our check out and departure and drift off to sleep fitfully.

Fast forward to lunchtime sitting on the balcony of the Grand Hotel killing time waiting for our flight and the video of the fireman at our home. Quick thinking the closest to our house is my sister who lives 10 minutes away. A call and she’s off to investigate. In the meantime that’s long enough for my life partner to spin out of control with a million different action plans. Each time, quelling my own anxiety, I urge her to wait until we have more information. Luckily the fireman rings Suzanne and it’s next door. Our house is undamaged. We are relieved beyond belief.

Seven hours after we were supposed to arrive in Cairns we are here. It’s been a long day with cancelled flights and delayed flights but we are here, home intact. If these first world problems are as bad as it gets then we are lucky people.

Sitting back speeding across the dark predawn sea, I suddenly feel invigorated. Five am wakeups are a killer for me but now I am ready. We wade through the water to the beach onto Goodes Island. A steep scramble through the bush takes us up to some WW2 huts and the remnants of a gun placement constructed in 1942 to protect the Torres strait from Japanese invasion by the sea. The bush has reclaimed much of the remnants.

Our final destination was Horn Island the site of the “airport” originally built as a gravel airstrip in WW2. We joined a tour guided by Vanessa Seekee who married into the most influential family on the island and who has devoted her life to researching the WW2 history of Horn Island and excavating and restoring as much as possible. Suffice it to say she is passionate and articulate and like all great guides brings it all to life. We spend a fascinating afternoon visiting trenches, antiaircraft guns and plane wrecks. This is a very forgotten theatre of war right at the advanced edge of our northern frontier.

The alarm goes off at 5am and a sibilant curse from my life partner pierces the darkness. An hour later we trudge the dark, dimly lit streets to the wharf. Our captain, Dirk, is  all chipper and has the mariner’s enthusiasm for sailing in the early mornings. Seated at the bow I close my eyes and experience the whooshing of the sea air as the dinghy accelerates. Fifteen minutes later I open my eyes and the soft dawnlight is already competing with the darkness.

Our boat sped over the glassy flat seas, clearly Neptune was smiling on us, perhaps an acknowledgement that today is July 4 and my birthday.  Multiple uninhabited islands are all around. As the sun rose we slowed down beside one of the larger islands with a white sand beach. Perched on a rocky ledge above the beach is a metal cairn commemorating the landing of James Cook in 1770. On this spot he claimed the east coast of Australia for Great Britain. We have arrived at Posession Island!   

The sea opens up and islands become fewer as we head eastward through the Coral Sea. Twenty minutes later we arrive at the tip as the locals call this spot. We are at Cape York, the northernmost point of Australia. The sun is shining, it is early morning and we have the place to ourselves.  We take pictures from the boat before the walk through mangrove flats and over the rocks to reach the understated metallic sign that confirms our arrival at the tip. We have a magic time at the tip before the tourist hordes arrive and is back on our dinghy speeding across the calm sea.

Rounding off the day is a visit to Friday Island the home of the last remaining pearl farm in the Torres strait. The late 19th century had pearl fishing as the major industry here and it attracted divers from all over the world especially Asia. It was a dangerous occupation if the bends didn’t get you the sharks often did. These days the pearls are cultured and farmed. A Japanese family own this farm and one of the owners related their story over refreshments. In the meanwhile she who must be obeyed gave the credit card a working over.

Our final island for the day was Prince of Wales Island where those of us who were able to undertook the 2 hour round trip up the highest peak to a lookout. All in all a magic birthday in this off the beaten track slice of paradise.

It is Monday at 9 am, a time that for any conurbation on the planet would be peak hour. We are walking across Douglas Street the main road on Thursday Island, TI to the locals, and one could shoot the proverbial cannon up the main street and not hit anyone. The temperature is a balmy 26degrees. We arrive at the jetty, our meeting place for our drive around TI and true to island time we wait.

The Torres strait Islands are a chain of 133 islands strewn between the tip of Cape York at the northernmost point of Australia and PNG. Only 14 are inhabited and most of those are centred around TI.

The Torres strait is named after Spanish navigator Luiz Vaz de Torres who sailed through the strait in 1606. In 1770 the redoubtable Captain James Cook landed on Possesion Island around Cape York and claimed the east coast of Australia for England. In 1789 Captain Bligh sailed by after the famous mutiny on the Bounty and names four islands in the area as Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday Islands.

The people on TI are a fascinating fusion of nations and cultures. In 1884 a lucrative pearling industry was established at TI. The result was an influx of people not just from Anglo Saxon background but from Japan, Malaya and India. These men settled here and intermarried and the result is a fascinating hybrid of many nations. Also the locals we have spoken too are adamant that racial tolerance is a way of life here.

Uncle Brian our driver and guide takes us around the island pointing out with pride the historic buildings and the  infrastructure of note. The Queensland government buildings here are brand spanking new and clearly there has been a significant spend of public monies.

The highlight of any trip to TI is Green Hill Fort situated on a small grassy hill 58 metres above sea level at the western end of TI. The Torres Strait Islands featured in WW2 and Horn Island was bombed repeatedly by the Japanese. Consequently visitors here think that this is a WW2 relic. Nothing could be further from the truth! This fort was built between 1891 and 1893 well before either of the world wars. As improbable as it seems now the fear was actually that of Russian invasion and well before the Soviet era. Living on the Mornington peninsula half a world away the fortifications at Portsea are against the same perceived threat. The views from here over the township, the turquoise sea and the surrounding islands is sublime.

The fascinating cemetery was a punishing after lunch slog over a steep hill in 30 degree heat. The multicultural basis to this society is highlighted by the gravestones frequently hosting English and Asian combinations. There is a memorial to the 19th century pearl fishers. In the lower reaches of the cemetery there is a veritable forest of plain whitewashed posts. Adorned with Japanese calligraphy each represents a 19th century pearl fisher who perished free diving for these treasures. Silent and poignant.

The afternoon sees me back on Green Fort Hill, relaxing on a grassy knoll and enjoying a tropical sunset.