Day 16

I woke up to the sound of waves crashing on sand. I cant remember a better nights sleep, the ground wasn't even very comfortable, but the sound of waves and the sea and the sun creeping into the swag bag just perfected everything. Eventually, my alarms went off enough times for me to start paying attention to the time and I got up. We only had 1 key to the shower block, so we headed over together. The showers were crap, it was early in the morning, and there was no kettle to have a cup of tea this morning - not the best start, but to make up for it, I was ready in record time, and got to chill out on the beach, watching waves roll in, sitting in the sunshine, enjoying the sand.

We'd scouted out the rental place the night before and thankfully had all the food bought so we knew exactly where we were going, and timed our arrival to 8am on the dot. A 45 minute briefing video later, and Doug and I were barely awake. The video hadn't really told me anything I didn't already know and was very repetitive with the messages it tried to share. It was probably aimed at people who maybe had never driven on sand or used a 4wd vehicle before. Eventually we were able to load up the new vehicle, and check it for damages. The ideal vehicle for sand conditions is a petrol engine automatic. We'd been given a diesel engine manual toyota land cruiser, almost as old as our wagon. Not ideal, but at least it was a long wheel base, so should be fine on the sand. When we finally set off, we realised it wasn't so fine on the standard tarmac roads..... it wobbled all over the road - most likely due to the highly configured suspension on it. We pulled into a Woolworths supermarket, having forgotten some essentials.

The wallowing land cruiser didn't manage the drive out to the ferry too well, and I was beginning to have reservations about how it would perform on the island. We arrived at the ferry with mere minutes to spare, and were the last car to reverse down the ramp onto the ferry. As soon as we were parked (in gear because the handbrake wouldn't hold the car on even a minor slope!) the ramp was raised and the boat sailed. The sky was blue, and as we pulled out of harbour a small pod of dolphins were playing the the waves at the front of the boat, seeing us off. The last time I'd come to Fraser Island, the weather had been pretty rubbish - grey skies and pouring rain. This time, the island looked fantastic. Bathed in sunlight and with the water sparkling it looked so enticing. As we pulled up to the pier, we were able to see why they requested we reverse onto the ferry - the route from ferry to land was up a steep track, and they recommended 4High before even leaving the boat. The path had been made easier with steel wheel tracks but was still a struggle, luckily as we were the last car onto the boat, we were the first off the boat, so there was no pressure. We'd been given a planned itinerary... but I didn't like the order of it so I made a few amendments that had us heading for Lake Mackenzie, one of the best swimming spots on the island and bound to full of other people. With me behind the wheel, and remembering well my lessons from the training course, the suspension adjustments proved to be absolutely necessary. The sand tracks were treacherous, at times you were travelling nearly blindly along the single track lane, not knowing if there was an on coming vehicle approaching the blind corners. Speeds of 30kph seemed more like 300kph, and sudden deep patches of sand meant that the car could seem to be out of control at times. From behind the wheel, I knew I was completely in control. From the passenger seat, Doug was pale as a ghost, with both hands gripping what ever he could in a death grip. Bouncing through, pot hole to pot hole, the equipment packed into the back of the car was flying up and down. It was too late to think about tying it down with the bungee cords we brought with us. We eventually navigated our way to Lake Mackenzie, and Doug seemed very glad to get out the car and stretch his legs, and fingers. It was at this point, Doug realised that his boardies were still in the wagon, sat in the rental yard waiting to be serviced. Fortunately, I'd brought a spare pair with me - they were old and the Velcro had given up the ghost, in fact they were supposed to be thrown away after the trip finished.

Fraser Island is famous for Dingo's. The Fraser Island dingos are some of the purest left in the wild. Last time I was here, we even got our guide to drive us out of the way in hopes of seeing one but to no avail - there were no dingos in sight anywhere. This time, before we'd even got out the car, there was a dingo sniffing around us. As soon as the door opened however, it was gone. Slinking away and proving how harmless to humans they are, so long as your bigger than a small child.

We got down to the lake, and rested on the golden sandy beaches. Compared to the white coral beaches of the Whitsundays, this was paradise. The Lake water was lovely and cooling, but again far colder than the 26degree water we'd loved so much on the GBR. After a paddle, I decided I needed to swim. I headed out along the shore, admiring the scenery as I went. The beaches ended, and I kept going, not really thinking about it and just enjoying what was all around me. Eventually, my arms got tired and I aimed for a point along the shore I could pull in and rest. Although I kept swimming at it, I didn't seem to be getting anywhere. Eventually I swum up to a leaf and passed it, proving that I was indeed moving, but the shore didn't seem to be getting any closer. Maybe I was caught in a current. Stopping to float, none of my reference points around the lake moved, so I carried on. Slowly but surely the shore got closer. Eventually, the bottom shallowed out and I could drag myself ashore. The lake was apparently longer than it seemed, and I was a fair distance from where everyone else was on the beach. I rested, too tired to move for the moment. Lying in the shallow water in the reeds, with flies bopping on and off me, and fish swimming up to my toes, I was very relaxed. Eventually the sound of a helicopter overhead roused me - surely Doug hadn't got so worried he'd called Search and Rescue? No, it was just a sight seeing helicopter, circling the lake so people could get their pictures. I got up, and decided it would be better to walk around the lake rather than try and swim it.

The ankle deep water slowed me a little, but it was very pleasant making my way slowly around. I turned up at the beach, and spotted Doug. After a short while to recover and rest again, it was time to move on having been here for 1.5 hours already. Due to tide times, we couldn't travel along the beach after 3pm so we had to have arrived at our campsite before then. Our campsite WAS the beach, but we would be far above the high water line. For the last section of the cross-island driving where we were on the narrow bumpy roads, I decided to cut the speed a bit further for Doug's enjoyment. The downside to this was the reduction in control and increased chance of getting bogged in the deeper sand. The deeper sand tended to be on corners, and badly effected steering at further reduced speeds, but Doug seemed to be more relaxed with the journey. Eventually we rounded a corner, only to see a group of people on the corner ahead, and a guide/ranger. It appears that a queue of cars was making their way up. The ranger/guide shouted something to Doug, who was part hanging out the door to find out what was up. We'd have to go round, the junction we'd just come past could be used to get to the beach. Doug passed the message on to the car behind, and we reversed back to get to the junction. As we started down the new path, Doug told me they had got bogged coming up and were being recovered. If I'd known this before, I'd have offered assistance, as I'd made sure we brought the trusty snatch strap along with us. Still, we were pushing on now and had our own challenges to overcome. The bump down to the beach was pretty severe, and instantly into water (fresh water from a stream rather than salt water from the sea) so was difficult to judge the drop. It was a bit bone shaking, and the unrestrained gear in the boot jumped again, but we were down. Driving along the beach was a completely different experience. The sand was still soft in places that we had to drive, even keeping close to the water line, and weaving as the waves chased us up the banks. Keeping up with the locals to see where they went was an impossible task, they raced off and were gone, leaving me to try and judge each of the washouts as we got to them. Washouts are where the streams and rain waters come down to join the sea - as they flow into the sea over the sand they produce a different height base, lower than the sand around the washout. Sometimes this difference is tiny, and no worse than going over a painted line on the highway. Other times, the drop is up to 12 inches, and this makes a significant impact on the suspension and bodywork of the cruiser. Each of the washout that I saw, i had to slow down for, to assess the depth and cross. Some of them were deep enough to cause water to wash around the car (not the same as my training river crossing but still fun), and some had a small drop on one side, but then a almost unclimbable drop the other side. It was slow going, and combined with the constant gear changing to get some speed up for the deep patches, it was a full time job concentrating on what was happening.

In terms of our campsite, we were hoping to find some of the tag-a-long tour campsites to pitch near, or other groups of people also travelling so that we could share some beers and stories into the night, and the other traditions of Fraser Island beach camping. We proceeded along the beach, getting all the way through the camping section without seeing signs of what we were looking for. Dismayed we turned around, and hoped that others had different restrictions on when they could drive on the beach so that they would camp within walking distance.

The higher end of the beach was much deeper sand, and quite a few times we got bogged and stalled the engine. We got out each time, using the training Id got to reverse out and welly it through again, eventually making it through sufficiently. Sometimes we'd chose a new route on harder sand to get round the obstacle.

Camping spots were behind the first raised dune, and so there were cut through's to get to a path running behind it, it was the access to these cut through's that I struggled the most. Eventually we found a spot we were happy with and stopped the car, it was exactly 3.05 - the time we had signed to say we'd be off the beach by. Perfect timing. A messy lunch of cheese and baked bean rolls (much of which hit the sand and was shallowly buried) and then we walked out to the waterline and proceeded up the beach. We stopped and explored as we went, small lakes of freshwater with tadpoles in and gloriously warm water entertaining us, or standing in the waves and having it wash over our feet. Both of us were taken back to our budding engineer days as small children. As probably all children did, we'd both spent hours of fun cutting channels and damming corners, before dropping a small wall holding back a pool of water to watch it flow down our channels to the sea. We may not have had spades, and our foot dug channels were not nearly as extravagant as they once would have been but it was still good childish fun.

We made our way up to our destination - Maheno shipwreck. Lying on the beach and battered by waves, the wreck makes for some amazing photos and with the sun going down, I thought it would make a great picture with the sun setting behind it. Despite some careful timing, I was never able to get quite far enough behind it, the sun moving in the wrong direction just a little too quickly, and I was fairly wet by the time I gave up and returned to the wreck to watch the waves crash through and over it. There are large signs up all over the place, warning how unsafe the wreck is to walk on due to its age and the effect of the corrosive wave power on it constantly. Last time, our tour guide helped to enforce this.... no tour guide this time and I felt very naughty making my way out onto the 'deck' of the ship - feeling very solid beneath my feet.

Eventually, we turned for home. We hadn't realised quite how far we'd walked and it took a while to get back, walking more on the soft sand at the top of the beach was far more effort and both of our legs were feeling it when we returned to camp. Making the most of the sunlight, I grabbed my book and headed to the top of the protective dune we were camped behind, sitting and watching the waves, reading, or waving at the passing cars. Many tag-a-longs passed, but alas none made camp in eye sight. Doug, plagued by flies as large as a thumb, put his tent up to shelter in and the flies attacked me instead. I found myself waving my hands sporadically, to shoo them away and only know consider what this must have looked like to anyone passing by. Eventually the light was gone, and when I was having to squint and rotate the book to make out a word, I gave up for the evening. Doug was fast asleep in his tent, and looked so peaceful - ignoring all my attempts at conversation so I decided to leave him to it. I plonked myself into the car and dedicated some time to blog writing (being only 4 or so days behind where we actually are isn't too bad). By the time night had fallen proper and it was 8.30pm, i decided enough was enough and woke Doug. I was unsure whether he would want to eat, and he wasn't really that interested. However, once I'd started cooking for me, he changed his mind and I doubled the portions. Dinner on the go has never been the most ...... appetising. Slop would probably describe it best - with only 1 ring gas cooker its 1 pan at a time, and most of the food comes out of tins or jars. Tonight was pasta with tuna and a cheesy tomato sauce, and when it came out the pan, it was slopping wetly all over the place. One of the things about being on Fraser Island is making sure cooking remains are not left for the dingos. I'd already spotted my second dingo on the day, who had waited until I got into the car to come and sniff at the bean remains from lunch and we didn't want to have a pack of them join us during the night, so when the pasta was nearly cooked, I dug a hole to drain the water into. After draining the pasta and filling the hole, we realised that we'd need to drain the tuna.... should have thought of that before we filled the hole. Another hole was dug, and again we drained the tuna and filled the hole.

After we finished eating, we realised we'd need another hole if we wanted to dispose of the leftovers..... We were not going to be digging more holes, so the pasta was wrapped in a plastic bag and put in the cool box to throw away tomorrow. Dinner over, we worked our way through some of the beers. There would be no sharing stories over a beer, there was no-one in sight anywhere along the beach, from the waterline the closest lights were about 6km away. Ironic really, the night I wanted to be alone in the middle of nowhere I was surrounded by others, the night I wanted to be surrounded by others we were on our own. An important reason to be around others here was one of the Fraser Island beach camping traditions. It is said that you haven't properly camped on Fraser's beaches until you've skinny dipped in the crashing ocean too. Much as it was an initiation at University, so it is with Fraser Island. It's always better in a group, much easier to work up the courage to remove all clothes, and run across the sand to the cold water with 6 or 7 other people doing the same thing right next to you. Doug had already refused point blank to doing it, but then he'd never been a proper uni student and wasn't likely to start now. I was on my own, and my mind was already telling me how cold it was going to be. Finishing my beer, I packed away. Unable to procrastinate any more - I stripped, piling my clothes on my swag bag. The moonlight made it feel almost like day, and i pelted the 50 meters or so across uneven sand to the crashing waves. Its always better at a dead run I'd discovered on multiple forays into the cold Solent waters down on Southsea seafront, and dead run i was in. Splash. Once in, its best to get completely submerged and swim around to maintain some body heat, the coldest part is anything above water that is caught by the blowing winds. I was surprised. It wasn't nearly as cold as I had been expecting, and was actually quite pleasant to be swimming around and cooling off. After a while, I started recalling all the down sides to swimming in the sea off Fraser, especially at night. This was some of the most shark infested waters around, it was deep enough close to shore for whales and dolphins to frolic in the surf, and sharks were especially active in the evening. Also, it was jelly fish mating season, so there would have been lots of jellyfish around now. The rips and current here are pretty strong, and could drag even a strong swimmer out into shipping lanes. With these all weighing on my mind, I got out of the water and sedately walked back to the campsite. By the time I was back, I was starting to shiver a bit, but Doug had gone to his tent, so I lay out on my swag and dried by moonlight. It was a fantastic clear sky again, and there were literally hundreds of stars out to look at. Thoughts of dingos and a settling chill forced me to climb into the swag for bed, arranging it so that my mesh was still over my face, allowing me to fall asleep with the sound of the waves, and the stars in my eyes.