Heading West

I turned left today.  I have finished with north for the time being and I really will only be needing west for the next few weeks.

The mainland beaches of far north Queensland are very ordinary. Exhibit A:

Rex Lookout north of Cairns.
Hang-waiting is the same the world over.

Someone's day ended badly between Port Douglas and Mossman yesterday. Single vehicle accident, perfect weather, dry roads, light traffic.  Thought of you Griggsy when the helicopter landed in the middle of the highway to medevac the injured occupants.  You must have flown quite a few similar missions.  I find it heartening in Australian society the lengths we go to look after each other in emergency situations.  Three different emergency services were in attendance. Traffic was held up in both directions for over an hour, ending up stretching 3-4kms in both directions.  Occupants were out of their cars roaming around and chatting to total strangers as they do on such occasions. There was not a murmur of complaint. 

The Daintree is a big river, and deep within its adjacent rainforest a decent espresso can be found.

Road signs in the Daintree are unlike those found in our capital cities.

The first warns of the cassowary, which while not an apex predator, is apparently an apex nuisance with little road sense. As the sign shows, it is prone to standing on its own foot and cannot get out of the way. The second sign is more interesting, and I must confess I was unaware that if you keep one set of wheels on a concrete causeway in fast flowing water, the other half of the car will float. That is good to know.

When you get out west of the Great Dividing Range they try to scare you with pictures of cows eating cars. I didn’t buy it for a minute.

I mean, I saw something that looked like a cow only thinner, with no horns and its ears on upside down, yet it steadfastly refused to even sniff the GS.

A cow-like creature refusing to eat my motorbike as advertised,  having been given opportunity.

But back to the Daintree for a moment. They do tree canopies over roads very well there. Moisture is ever present in all its forms. The non-stop winter south easterly blows moist warm air onto the coast and mountains, creating huge banks of cloud which envelop the higher peaks and ridges. The humidity is very high, and there is slowly swirling mist in unexpected places in the forest and roads through it. Dampness pervades all. Despite a willing wind, complete cloud cover and drizzle, the temperature was steady around 28-29C.

At a look out which presents panoramic views of the southern coast and hinterland of the Daintree, is a sign.

I think I had a bit of a feel for the language, and certainly for the people, and I took the sign as a command. So I had a bit of a wahluoogideegah myself. It felt good. Coming from Melbourne I am of course much more familiar with the Wurrundjeri tongue, which I often dream in.

Tropical rainforest doesn’t follow any of the rules for plants. For example the old rule of one plant one stem/trunk is out the window. All manner of unholy liaisons must go on under cover of the mists deep in the jungle, probably at night, producing plants with features of many species but somehow all living off the one stem or trunk. Someone should sort this out.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
There is a section of 20kms or so of curves which climbs up between Mossman and Mount Molloy to the Atherton Tableland. This stretch should be in the top 10 rides in Australia. It was unexpected, uncrowded and exhilarating.
 
Once on the Atherton Tableland the road continues to climb to over 3,000 feet above sea level. This is magnificent country. The coastal hills and mountains dry out the moist air from the sea, and all that remains of it are huge banks of cumulus now to the east like a fat doona over the mountain tops. The tableland has rich red soil, pasture which attracts fat shiny cattle from all over and cool air. It got down to 20C as I rode through the undulating curves on virtually uninhabited roads. The cattle are all blue ribbon specimens, the towns look prosperous, the farm houses do not bespeak struggling, and it’s enough to make you want to be a farmer.
 

But continuing west of the Great Dividing Range, and it is quite a different story. Even the gum trees bespeak struggling. The moisture-laden winds which are so generous to the coast and extended hinterland, have nothing left past a certain point inland. It shows. There were no clouds, there was no visible moisture anywhere, the temperature climbed to 32C, the wind died, the roads were long and straight. Once again, I was in a different place.

There is a species of ant which lives in large colonies, and constructs amazing anthills in which they reside. Because of the need for warmth early and late in the day, and the need to avoid the midday heat, these ants construct their huge dwellings on a long and narrow floor plan, cunningly oriented north/south so that it presents its smallest aspect to the cruel midday sun.

These ants should come and conduct a few workshops between Mount Garnet and Georgetown. The ant attitude here seems to be north shmorth, let’s just slap her together and move in - the bigger the better. There is no pride in workmanship here.

They should not be proud of this blob, maximising as it does heat retention from the sun at noon.

Of course ants vary in motivation and needs just as we do. I did spot this modest adobe abode away from all the others.  These ants are probably a bit alternative, a bit arty, and have a relation who is an architect. But alas, they also appear cavalier as to the location of north, magnetic or true.

An hour from sunset I refuelled in Mount Surprise. The main surprise was that there was no mountain. It was flat as something really flat (simile fatigue - I'm sure it will pass).


As I rode west totally blinded by the setting sun, using only the GPS to stay on the road, there was a short straight which went north and allowed me for a moment to look to my left and savour the splendour of the late afternoon sun west of the Great Divide. These were the colours.

Mossman to the Daintree, a wet world of mists and wildly imaginative vegetation. Cape Tribulation to the cool richness of the Atherton Tableland. All capped off with the relentlessly sun-punished beauty of the landscape west of the Great Divide.

It was a good day.

(This was written yesterday and posted today, Saturday).