I think the best part about Christmas is the anticipation and lead up. From barge delays to cyclone warnings, postal service sorting issues to spotting Santa and of course then there's the food...... This year was no exception - absolutely memorable in every sense of the word.
A Cape Christmas means you will continue to receive presents for approx 5 weeks - one present at a time. Our parcels only come in once a week so if it misses the barge then it goes to no-mans-land for an undetermined amount of time and is only recovered on the odd occasion.... When only one of our bikes arrived a week before Christmas without it's partner I was beginning to panic. Oh oh who was going to get coal this year? I'm sure our kids now think that the postal service here is only to provide them with more gifts. Thank goodness, the other bike came on the Friday before so we were set.
The barge came in late and the mad panic to get food before others was ridiculous. Forget the Boxing Day sales in myer, up here it was more like a whole heap of muddy scrubbers fanging for some fresh fruit and vege before the rush....that was Woolies! I grabbed my vegies and lamb and got the hell outta there before I too was stampeded. We got our cartons off the pallet and erected the 'Christmas feature wall' with yellow bricks, bicardi and wine cartons, stuck on the tinsel and we were set.
Christmas Eve was priceless. For weeks we've been talking about Santa coming and how he would find us wherever we were on Christmas eve whether we were camping or just at home. They'd baked for Santa from a recipe my girlfriend had suggested; processed tim tams with philly cheese, rolled into balls and stuck on a stick affectionately called by my son "Poo on a stick!". They were his favourite. Santa was given milk and beer, "poo on a stick" and the reindeers had a plate of lettuce and carrot. Perfect.
At about 6pm the excitement really started when I was positive I'd heard a thud on the roof. Makayla went bizurk with excitement and they both ran outside to have a look to see if the slay and reindeers had finally found us. It was too dark so they ran in and got their torches. (Their pack torches have a swiss army knife on the base of them). Xavie went armed. We listened intently for 'bells' when you wouldn't believe it but a flock of birds took off from the tree sounding like a stampede in the sky and leaving us covered in raindrops. It was too much for them and squealing in fear they ran inside for safety. After a few more minutes of 'hearing bells' they were convinced to go to bed and wait for the big fella to come in. I tucked them in and handed them their torches in case they heard or saw something then they could check - they were so frightened and excited and bursting out of their skin in anticipation. I opened up their louvers so they could see what was happening outside and we sang Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer again. It wasn't long before there was a thud on the roof, then a red torch light moving outside their window through the garden. It was too much for them and they were hysterical. "Santa" ran up the street, leaping around in the darkness making it look like the reindeers were on the street and our garden.... I thought Makayla was going to cry she was soooo convinced they were there. Xavie on the other hand was beside himself with fear and was trying with all his might to convince himself it was anything but Santa.
What followed next was priceless and I'll never forget it. "Its just a crocodile eye mum! It's not Santa. Go AWAY SANTA! It's not Santa is it mum???? Its not Santa, maybe its just a bird with a red singlet! Is that right mum, just a bird in a singlet?".... What do you say to that?
I told them that Santa wouldn't come until they were asleep so they ran into bed, Xavie more out of fear than anything else, and hid under their blankets. "Please mum, don't go, go away Santa!" and for the second time tonight he went to bed armed....they were cared out of their wits but asleep shortly afterwards.
Dad and I stayed up and put together their bikes. I supervised the work like a great foreman should, with a Christmas beverage in hand and holding the spanner. "Santa" wrote a lovely letter of thanks to the kids for the "poo on a stick" and explained it was his favourite snack as well. Xavie would be pleased.
Christmas morning came and the kids, after their exhausting night, got up around 8 o'clock. Xavie came in first and I asked him what Santa had brought him as I could hear him playing for at least an hour in his room. "Nuffing" he replied. I asked him had he gone out and checked yet in the lounge room? Looking very concerned he asked "Is Santa out there?" I laughed and told him to go and check. He woke up Makayla and they went out together. It was on like Donkey Kong!
Makayla at one stage told Xavie that she had too many presents and started to give him everything in her Santa sack that was green or blue. When he realised he too had the same presents in his sack, they exchanged colours again. Once they opened the cap gun rifles it was over. There was no need to open anything else until that night and the next day as the only thing they wanted to do was ride their bikes up and down the street with the other kids (who'd all gotten bikes as well) with their cap gun rifles strapped on the back. At one stage Xavie went and got his camelpak and made himself a little picnic with his knife/torch, all his caps, a wrapped up "poo on a stick", a museli bar and a water bottle. He was ready for anything.
Our Christmas Day consisted of bike rides, pig hunts out the back, community BBQs, sharing a drink with our beautiful friends, skyping with our families back home in BrisVegas and stuffing our faces with Christmas cheer. I couldn't think of anything better!
For Boxing Day we all went out quading in the mud and spent the day sitting under the waterfalls and swimming in the now full 'crocodile lakes'.
Cyclone? What cyclone? ......
Makayla put it best "Mum, this is the best Christmas EVA!"
Friday 30 December 2011
Saturday 24 December 2011
Mozzies or Marchies?
We packed the truck up and loaded the quads on and were ready to re-explore Mapoon and the surrounding beaches and swamps. The other car loads of friends rocked up to our place so we could convoy together through the mud and try to navigate our way around the potholes. It's about an hours drive from here and the landscape looks like tropical palm trees, highlighter green grasses and backs onto the water's edge. Truely a beautiful place.
We drove up onto the point and I jumped out. Dot was anxious to get out and was bouncing around in her dog crate so I let her out too and she proceeded to pig root with excitement and run her fastest around all the cars, bowling over anyone in her path. I slapped a black mozzie from my arm and thought about getting out the can of aeroguard before we started to unpack. The kids got out with me and then the boys decided they'd check out the area to find the 'perfect' camp spot. I slapped a few more mozzies and walked behind the car wondering where he wanted to go as the tide was bloody high and we're already in croc country - no need to serve ourselves up too easily...
I noticed the kids were starting to slap themselves and fight the imaginary foul. They were big mozzies, I'll give you that! The boys disappeared around the bend with the spray and we had no other option but to run through the sand towards the car with flailing arms in a bid to ward off the little vampires. We got around the bend and got a glimpse of the boys having gone way beyond flailing arms and were slapping themselves frantically as the swarm of billions of mozzies pulled their ambush to swallow us all. The flying disease were thick and thirsty. On the verge of panic and ready to sacrifice the children in a bid for itching relief, we clambered back in and floored it until we got the hell outta there. Flooring it behind us in the rear vision mirror was our giant bounding live-bait, with wild eyes as if to say, you bastards have left me again. We did paper-scissors rock for who was going to get out and let her in her cage. Hubby lost - it's 'his' dog now...
So where were we going to go then? None of us wanted to go home. The creeks weren't full enough yet and we'd already been travelling an hour, so it was back to Penne we went.
Over the sand dunes we got the first glimpse of the rolling blue ocean and the smell of salt water and rained-on dirt was sensational. We tossed up whether to chance going to the hut and getting kicked out when someone else was booked or just biting the bullet and throwing up the tarp. We went the tarp option - nobody wanted to set up for the third time today. The tarp is huge and can fit our cars underneath so we just had to roll out the swags on the back tray. Too easy. The tarp went up, the chairs went out and within 10mins we were set up. A green march fly bit my leg leaving a welt and I took pleasure in slapping him relentlessly off my leg and then again while he was in the sand. Experience has taught me that marchies don't kill easily and he was not getting a second chance on drinking me. We cracked some beers and I put a lamb in the camp oven for lunch. It was as if I'd sent up a flare for all black and green marchies to call their mates as Christmas dinner was about to be served. They came in a multitude of colours and stings....
Aeroguard boasts that it lasts up to 6hrs. I think I should write to them and send a photo of my elephantitis swollen legs, face, neck and every other soft spot I have. One layer of aeroguard lasts approx 11mins and 20seconds before you need to reapply.
The other solution is this... Open a coke zero can, spash out the top 2cm as you slap the side of your face and swear at the flying beast that has bitten you...again... then top it up with bicardi until it's clear and filling the top of your can. Drink the first gulp really fast, squinch through the unpleasant burning sensation, gulp again. Reapply aeroguard with a nice layer of sunscreen over the top. The blowing sand in the wind will help it all stick together. Swig the last half of your can then repeat the whole cycle from the top.
Neither mozzies nor marchies can resist this concoction and you'll be safe.
As for children, the same applies but instead of bicardi let them ride your quads fast enough that they don't get bitten or care if they do......
We drove up onto the point and I jumped out. Dot was anxious to get out and was bouncing around in her dog crate so I let her out too and she proceeded to pig root with excitement and run her fastest around all the cars, bowling over anyone in her path. I slapped a black mozzie from my arm and thought about getting out the can of aeroguard before we started to unpack. The kids got out with me and then the boys decided they'd check out the area to find the 'perfect' camp spot. I slapped a few more mozzies and walked behind the car wondering where he wanted to go as the tide was bloody high and we're already in croc country - no need to serve ourselves up too easily...
I noticed the kids were starting to slap themselves and fight the imaginary foul. They were big mozzies, I'll give you that! The boys disappeared around the bend with the spray and we had no other option but to run through the sand towards the car with flailing arms in a bid to ward off the little vampires. We got around the bend and got a glimpse of the boys having gone way beyond flailing arms and were slapping themselves frantically as the swarm of billions of mozzies pulled their ambush to swallow us all. The flying disease were thick and thirsty. On the verge of panic and ready to sacrifice the children in a bid for itching relief, we clambered back in and floored it until we got the hell outta there. Flooring it behind us in the rear vision mirror was our giant bounding live-bait, with wild eyes as if to say, you bastards have left me again. We did paper-scissors rock for who was going to get out and let her in her cage. Hubby lost - it's 'his' dog now...
So where were we going to go then? None of us wanted to go home. The creeks weren't full enough yet and we'd already been travelling an hour, so it was back to Penne we went.
Over the sand dunes we got the first glimpse of the rolling blue ocean and the smell of salt water and rained-on dirt was sensational. We tossed up whether to chance going to the hut and getting kicked out when someone else was booked or just biting the bullet and throwing up the tarp. We went the tarp option - nobody wanted to set up for the third time today. The tarp is huge and can fit our cars underneath so we just had to roll out the swags on the back tray. Too easy. The tarp went up, the chairs went out and within 10mins we were set up. A green march fly bit my leg leaving a welt and I took pleasure in slapping him relentlessly off my leg and then again while he was in the sand. Experience has taught me that marchies don't kill easily and he was not getting a second chance on drinking me. We cracked some beers and I put a lamb in the camp oven for lunch. It was as if I'd sent up a flare for all black and green marchies to call their mates as Christmas dinner was about to be served. They came in a multitude of colours and stings....
Aeroguard boasts that it lasts up to 6hrs. I think I should write to them and send a photo of my elephantitis swollen legs, face, neck and every other soft spot I have. One layer of aeroguard lasts approx 11mins and 20seconds before you need to reapply.
The other solution is this... Open a coke zero can, spash out the top 2cm as you slap the side of your face and swear at the flying beast that has bitten you...again... then top it up with bicardi until it's clear and filling the top of your can. Drink the first gulp really fast, squinch through the unpleasant burning sensation, gulp again. Reapply aeroguard with a nice layer of sunscreen over the top. The blowing sand in the wind will help it all stick together. Swig the last half of your can then repeat the whole cycle from the top.
Neither mozzies nor marchies can resist this concoction and you'll be safe.
As for children, the same applies but instead of bicardi let them ride your quads fast enough that they don't get bitten or care if they do......
Mercinaries, Missionaries and Misfits
Someone told me yesterday that there are three types of people and that Cape York is full of them. The more I thought about it, the more people I could relate it to. Some of us have elements of some or all. Either way, an amusing thought for the day....
Mercinary - someone who lives up here because they make a lot of money and they don't care how. They work hard, long hours, do what needs to be done and often at the expense of others around them or the environment. They have little regard for the wake they leave because they know this is not their 'home' and they can leave when it gets too hard for them.
Missionary - someone who comes up here and thinks they can fix all the 'problems'. They're often Christ associated and ready to convert the next person in need of a labottomy with the intention of making everyone live and beathe like they do. They don't see people for who they really are but as either like them or in need of 'change' in an eternal quest to convert the world to their beliefs, values and way of life. They pave their way with great intentions and, in their inexperience and nieveity in life, walk around with blinkers and a one-track mind.
Misfit - someone who comes up here because the rest of the world chewed them up and spat them out and there's literally nowhere else for them to go. They can be reckless, wild and impulsive or the complete opposite, either way, only their own mothers could love them. They're here because someone said they should 'try it' and are now appreciating the thousands of kms between them. They can't fit inside any 'normal' box and are the square peg. People might love them because they can't believe they do what they do without blinking an eyelid.
So which one are you?
Mercinary - someone who lives up here because they make a lot of money and they don't care how. They work hard, long hours, do what needs to be done and often at the expense of others around them or the environment. They have little regard for the wake they leave because they know this is not their 'home' and they can leave when it gets too hard for them.
Missionary - someone who comes up here and thinks they can fix all the 'problems'. They're often Christ associated and ready to convert the next person in need of a labottomy with the intention of making everyone live and beathe like they do. They don't see people for who they really are but as either like them or in need of 'change' in an eternal quest to convert the world to their beliefs, values and way of life. They pave their way with great intentions and, in their inexperience and nieveity in life, walk around with blinkers and a one-track mind.
Misfit - someone who comes up here because the rest of the world chewed them up and spat them out and there's literally nowhere else for them to go. They can be reckless, wild and impulsive or the complete opposite, either way, only their own mothers could love them. They're here because someone said they should 'try it' and are now appreciating the thousands of kms between them. They can't fit inside any 'normal' box and are the square peg. People might love them because they can't believe they do what they do without blinking an eyelid.
So which one are you?
Saturday 17 December 2011
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger!
When you live 12hrs from the closest city, thousands of kms from your family and old friends you have to make a choice. You can sit at home in the air con, facebooking your friends and family about how much a small, remote town sucks and count down the days until you go back to the 'coast' or you can suck up what life throws at you and make the most of every day with the people and places you have right now. What's doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.
Over the years I've seen people do both.
For the past three years we've been so fortunate to make lifelong friends with people who have come and gone through this small town and over those years there have been some big highs and lows. Some of which I know I stand taller for. What's different about this place is how hard it is, after awhile, to let people back in when you know that they too will eventually leave. There's many people here who can't do that anymore because when you invest so much time and energy in developing a real relationship with other people, couples and families, you share in their memories and entwine your lives, then you have to stand at the tin shed airport and wave them off; you can't help but feel they're taking a little piece of you with them and it hurts.
Social networking, Skype and the occasional phone call are as close as we've been to family over the last 18months which can be hard on the heart-strings and on relationships. Christmas is the hardest. I'm not proud of this but I'm yet to hold my niece or nephew and the price of flights for the whole family is often too much for us to afford to travel. We've been lucky for some of our family to visit us for short visits (our spare room is affectionately named for our kids after the last person to sleep in there) but it's not the same as ducking down the road for a cuppa with that person who knows you better than you do.
Important milestones and accomplishments are the best excuses for celebrating with great people and this town will do that for you. You can be as bored or as socially engaged as you want. Sometimes we don't even need an excuse to party. We regularly just go down and watch the sunset and enjoy the peace, or share a meal together. You can make an external family that can fill that void and be there for you when you need it. To fill this primal need to connect with real people in real conversations you have to force yourself to make the effort and open up to an extended family here. Opening yourself up is hard. Everyone needs someone to talk to and you can find yourself unloading some of your deepest thoughts and feelings with these people, often in a creek or over a beer. Whether it's a work decision that has left you reeling, a choice that doesn't go your way, a mistake or two that 'everyone' knows about, a fight with your family, a marriage or family issue or something you're ashamed of; where we live is where you can always find a confidential and reassuring breathe of confidence to pick yourself up and keep going. Doubt about why you live here or the choices you make can be made easier if you share it with others and bounce your ideas off a friendly face in the same position as you. For these people I will always be eternally grateful.
Being away from family and old friends also makes you rely more on yourself and on your partner. Being remote or 'alone' does not mean you are lonely. It forces you talk it out, share in each other's dreams and aspirations, be supportive and listen every day without the interference of others. Going through the hard times, especially living remote, makes you stronger.
If you want to make it in this place then you have to be strong. You have to make a conscious decision to overcome your fears and tell yourself "yes I can do this". You have to get in there and just do it! You will make mistakes. You will find it at times really hard. Whether it's standing up for what you believe in, overcoming the fear of putting yourself out there all over again, learning to be independent and stand on your own two feet or taking the initiative to do something about your situation, the risks are worth it.
As Kelly Clarkson's new song sings "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger,
Stand a little taller....."
Over the years I've seen people do both.
For the past three years we've been so fortunate to make lifelong friends with people who have come and gone through this small town and over those years there have been some big highs and lows. Some of which I know I stand taller for. What's different about this place is how hard it is, after awhile, to let people back in when you know that they too will eventually leave. There's many people here who can't do that anymore because when you invest so much time and energy in developing a real relationship with other people, couples and families, you share in their memories and entwine your lives, then you have to stand at the tin shed airport and wave them off; you can't help but feel they're taking a little piece of you with them and it hurts.
Social networking, Skype and the occasional phone call are as close as we've been to family over the last 18months which can be hard on the heart-strings and on relationships. Christmas is the hardest. I'm not proud of this but I'm yet to hold my niece or nephew and the price of flights for the whole family is often too much for us to afford to travel. We've been lucky for some of our family to visit us for short visits (our spare room is affectionately named for our kids after the last person to sleep in there) but it's not the same as ducking down the road for a cuppa with that person who knows you better than you do.
Important milestones and accomplishments are the best excuses for celebrating with great people and this town will do that for you. You can be as bored or as socially engaged as you want. Sometimes we don't even need an excuse to party. We regularly just go down and watch the sunset and enjoy the peace, or share a meal together. You can make an external family that can fill that void and be there for you when you need it. To fill this primal need to connect with real people in real conversations you have to force yourself to make the effort and open up to an extended family here. Opening yourself up is hard. Everyone needs someone to talk to and you can find yourself unloading some of your deepest thoughts and feelings with these people, often in a creek or over a beer. Whether it's a work decision that has left you reeling, a choice that doesn't go your way, a mistake or two that 'everyone' knows about, a fight with your family, a marriage or family issue or something you're ashamed of; where we live is where you can always find a confidential and reassuring breathe of confidence to pick yourself up and keep going. Doubt about why you live here or the choices you make can be made easier if you share it with others and bounce your ideas off a friendly face in the same position as you. For these people I will always be eternally grateful.
Being away from family and old friends also makes you rely more on yourself and on your partner. Being remote or 'alone' does not mean you are lonely. It forces you talk it out, share in each other's dreams and aspirations, be supportive and listen every day without the interference of others. Going through the hard times, especially living remote, makes you stronger.
If you want to make it in this place then you have to be strong. You have to make a conscious decision to overcome your fears and tell yourself "yes I can do this". You have to get in there and just do it! You will make mistakes. You will find it at times really hard. Whether it's standing up for what you believe in, overcoming the fear of putting yourself out there all over again, learning to be independent and stand on your own two feet or taking the initiative to do something about your situation, the risks are worth it.
As Kelly Clarkson's new song sings "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger,
Stand a little taller....."
Thursday 15 December 2011
Dogs versus Wenlock Monster
There are a few types of dogs living up here but 90% of dogs are itsa-bitzas and they're all huge. Everyone has a dog or 5, especially if you're into hunting.
Hunting dogs are usually trained to be bailers or luggers. A bailer is a dog that has a good nose, is fast and 'bails' up the pigs by barking or nipping at them. Think of a sheepdog style of rounding up and holding them in an area, waiting for you to come in and finish the job.
There there are luggers. Luggers are dogs that can have a good nose, have to be fast but they're strong and they bite. Luggers are dogs like our current breed - great dane, bull arab cross. Her name is Dorothy and she's the size of a small horse. Our other dog, Dolorus, is 6 weeks old but will be stronger and taller... They hang off the pigs ears or face to stop them running. Some, like our dog's dad, just bite over the top of the pigs neck and press them into the ground, heldfast until you come.
My first dog up here was a Golden Labrador. She was sooo hairy you could make a jumper out of her dropped hair on a daily basis. She was a good guard dog and kept many people from jumping our fence and helping themselves - unless you said "hey sandy" and then she'd just roll over and ask for a pat while they robbed us... Sandy went camping with us everywhere. She wasn't just a pet but part of the family. In fact, I dont think she knew she was a dog because she just expected to be treated like a queen. Sandy was bitten by a snake while we ran her around the lakes and now she overlooks the ocean sunset at RedBeach.
One time we were camping on the banks of the Wenlock River gold mines with friends and were enjoying a few festive drinks around the fire when, out of the darkness, came this ear-piercing scream like a T-Rex roar from just outside the light of the fire. To say I was scared was an understatement. Think of my face-completely drained of colour and life, lots of body movement flailing around but not actually moving, mouth-wide open to scream but only something maternal from deep that came out like a grunt. That was me. Standing on my camp chair, like that was going to save me, pearing over towards the kids lying on their swags next to the car tossing up whether to sacrifice them or hope that their father would come to all of our rescue. "What the hell is that?" I managed to squeak out. I'd never heard anything as loud and ear-piercingly dangerous in my life....
Our friends dog, a great dane/arab mix, black as the ace of spades takes off up the bank in the direction of the roar. Gone. Our other friends dog, a cattle dog cross, took off into the pitch black also, barking and carrying on like they were going to kill whatever monster lurked beyond the shadows. Our Sandy girl had dug a hole under my camp chair and was litterly shaking with this pittying look in her eyes like "mum, what the f%*k is that?". No one was going to move her anytime soon.
She was not a hunter.
With the other two dogs, who at the time had never hunted before and were more like giant dopey cats, were gone. The boys had no choice but to go after them. One of them picked up the closest thing to him - a pocket knife. My hubby dug around in the camp box and tossed up which would be sharper - the plastic butter knife or the rusted piece-of-shite machete. He went with the machete. The other bloke took his steak knife off his plate. No time for shoes or protective clothing and off they ran into the bush hollering after their dogs and hoping to god they didn't come across the newly discovered, carnivorous dinosaur that had come across us on their track to water in the dark.
A few minutes passed and my girlfriend and I, still cowering around the fire and hoping the Gobin/Human-eating Monster would eat the boys first when in ran the dogs. They'd chased whatever it was, most probably a giant boar, until they lost it in the thick scrub. Thank God.
What on Earth they would have done if they'd come across that man-eater will never be known but my bet would be that anything would be able to put up a decent fight against three pleb hunters weilding plastic knives, pocket knives and a rusty machete.....
Beware those that camp on the Wenlock River. That monster has not been seen since......
Hunting dogs are usually trained to be bailers or luggers. A bailer is a dog that has a good nose, is fast and 'bails' up the pigs by barking or nipping at them. Think of a sheepdog style of rounding up and holding them in an area, waiting for you to come in and finish the job.
There there are luggers. Luggers are dogs that can have a good nose, have to be fast but they're strong and they bite. Luggers are dogs like our current breed - great dane, bull arab cross. Her name is Dorothy and she's the size of a small horse. Our other dog, Dolorus, is 6 weeks old but will be stronger and taller... They hang off the pigs ears or face to stop them running. Some, like our dog's dad, just bite over the top of the pigs neck and press them into the ground, heldfast until you come.
My first dog up here was a Golden Labrador. She was sooo hairy you could make a jumper out of her dropped hair on a daily basis. She was a good guard dog and kept many people from jumping our fence and helping themselves - unless you said "hey sandy" and then she'd just roll over and ask for a pat while they robbed us... Sandy went camping with us everywhere. She wasn't just a pet but part of the family. In fact, I dont think she knew she was a dog because she just expected to be treated like a queen. Sandy was bitten by a snake while we ran her around the lakes and now she overlooks the ocean sunset at RedBeach.
One time we were camping on the banks of the Wenlock River gold mines with friends and were enjoying a few festive drinks around the fire when, out of the darkness, came this ear-piercing scream like a T-Rex roar from just outside the light of the fire. To say I was scared was an understatement. Think of my face-completely drained of colour and life, lots of body movement flailing around but not actually moving, mouth-wide open to scream but only something maternal from deep that came out like a grunt. That was me. Standing on my camp chair, like that was going to save me, pearing over towards the kids lying on their swags next to the car tossing up whether to sacrifice them or hope that their father would come to all of our rescue. "What the hell is that?" I managed to squeak out. I'd never heard anything as loud and ear-piercingly dangerous in my life....
Our friends dog, a great dane/arab mix, black as the ace of spades takes off up the bank in the direction of the roar. Gone. Our other friends dog, a cattle dog cross, took off into the pitch black also, barking and carrying on like they were going to kill whatever monster lurked beyond the shadows. Our Sandy girl had dug a hole under my camp chair and was litterly shaking with this pittying look in her eyes like "mum, what the f%*k is that?". No one was going to move her anytime soon.
She was not a hunter.
With the other two dogs, who at the time had never hunted before and were more like giant dopey cats, were gone. The boys had no choice but to go after them. One of them picked up the closest thing to him - a pocket knife. My hubby dug around in the camp box and tossed up which would be sharper - the plastic butter knife or the rusted piece-of-shite machete. He went with the machete. The other bloke took his steak knife off his plate. No time for shoes or protective clothing and off they ran into the bush hollering after their dogs and hoping to god they didn't come across the newly discovered, carnivorous dinosaur that had come across us on their track to water in the dark.
A few minutes passed and my girlfriend and I, still cowering around the fire and hoping the Gobin/Human-eating Monster would eat the boys first when in ran the dogs. They'd chased whatever it was, most probably a giant boar, until they lost it in the thick scrub. Thank God.
What on Earth they would have done if they'd come across that man-eater will never be known but my bet would be that anything would be able to put up a decent fight against three pleb hunters weilding plastic knives, pocket knives and a rusty machete.....
Beware those that camp on the Wenlock River. That monster has not been seen since......
Quading in the Wet Season!
The kids were up at the crack of dawn this morning and there was no way we could do two days in a row of sitting around home without killing each other or getting divorced so I packed the esky and hubby strapped on the quads, a text message around found two more quad riders that were keen to play in the mud, then we were off.
We dumped the cars and trailers in a quarry off the main road so we could quad in. I smothered cream over the kids until they were white and slimy. Camel packs on for water, esky full of chicken, crackers and beers. Quads were full of fuel and ready to go. We were all almost ready to zoom off when my friend realised he had the keys to his mates quad instead of his; major bummer when you've got no spare in the truck. He had to drive home and do the swapsies. Too bad so sad, he had to catch up to us.
The rest of us took off, doubling a kid and straddling the esky, up the dirt track. The last few weeks of storms had made some mad mud swamps and to get through them you have to drop her in gear, hold on and hope you dont have to jump off and push. The first few swamps weren't too bad. Hubby with my son zoomed off and around obstacles crusty-demons style, throwing his ass-end out as many times as he could to try and cover us girls in sticky mud. I had an extra 30kg of esky and supplies on the back of mine so there was no issue in skidding out on every corner.
Now my hubby might have some skill but I have to say I'm an ordinary rider let alone when I'm overloaded. It wasn't long before I came across a muddy wall and trying to negotiate the sides, misjudged and my front tyre gave way leaving me with no other option but jump off and save my daughter on the front. No sympathy from my hubby just a "you've got to be kidding me..." I laughed my ass off and got on to have another crack at it. It was one slippery, sticky mother of a bog and it didn't help that I have no co-ordination either. My daughter on the front just shakes her head and asks me "shall I get off again mum? Do you want me to ride with dad?" while I negotiated the next bog hole. If it wasn't bogs chipped away at my riding confidence it was the bloody sticks that jam up under my feet as I skip along and threaten to take out one of my legs unless I stop and unjam it.
We arrived at creek crossing number one and pulled out my campfire of wood jammed underneath my engine. We were all looking forward to being able to wash off under the waterfall and lay about in the rock pools but unfortunately no such luck this time. She was bone dry. Bummer! It was going to be hot. We cracked a courage can, crossed over the rocky embankment and pushed onto the next crossing. Surely there'd be water in there. It runs almost all year long......
Nothing.
There was only one other choice. Keep pushing on up the track, through the big swamp and out onto the plains to the shack or limp home with our tails between our legs... The thunder above us cracked and the rain began to pour really heavily. At least we could cool off in the rain. As you cruise through the bush the smells of rain and dirt and euchalyptus trees are enthralling to the senses. Nothing make you feel more alive than riding fast through the bush with the wind in your hair, eyes open for pigs and on the quest for a waterhole. None of us considered going back for a second.
Our mate caught up to us at the "Barra Bar" shack, a few sheets of iron on posts overlooking the glorious, prehistoric looking Wenlock River canal; home of the biggest population of crocodiles. We cracked a beer, ate our chicken or sausage sangas and soaked in the serenity while the thunder storm cracked and poured over the top of us.
On our way back home the creeks all had water in them but not enough for this girl to wollow in so we pressed on back to the trucks. On the way home we saw a mob of kangaroos that jumped, panicking, in front of us. One big kangaroo side-swiped us and we nealy came a-gutsa but sheer luck saved us, yet again for eating the mud.
No pigs this trip but a bloody fun day in the mud.
We dumped the cars and trailers in a quarry off the main road so we could quad in. I smothered cream over the kids until they were white and slimy. Camel packs on for water, esky full of chicken, crackers and beers. Quads were full of fuel and ready to go. We were all almost ready to zoom off when my friend realised he had the keys to his mates quad instead of his; major bummer when you've got no spare in the truck. He had to drive home and do the swapsies. Too bad so sad, he had to catch up to us.
The rest of us took off, doubling a kid and straddling the esky, up the dirt track. The last few weeks of storms had made some mad mud swamps and to get through them you have to drop her in gear, hold on and hope you dont have to jump off and push. The first few swamps weren't too bad. Hubby with my son zoomed off and around obstacles crusty-demons style, throwing his ass-end out as many times as he could to try and cover us girls in sticky mud. I had an extra 30kg of esky and supplies on the back of mine so there was no issue in skidding out on every corner.
Now my hubby might have some skill but I have to say I'm an ordinary rider let alone when I'm overloaded. It wasn't long before I came across a muddy wall and trying to negotiate the sides, misjudged and my front tyre gave way leaving me with no other option but jump off and save my daughter on the front. No sympathy from my hubby just a "you've got to be kidding me..." I laughed my ass off and got on to have another crack at it. It was one slippery, sticky mother of a bog and it didn't help that I have no co-ordination either. My daughter on the front just shakes her head and asks me "shall I get off again mum? Do you want me to ride with dad?" while I negotiated the next bog hole. If it wasn't bogs chipped away at my riding confidence it was the bloody sticks that jam up under my feet as I skip along and threaten to take out one of my legs unless I stop and unjam it.
We arrived at creek crossing number one and pulled out my campfire of wood jammed underneath my engine. We were all looking forward to being able to wash off under the waterfall and lay about in the rock pools but unfortunately no such luck this time. She was bone dry. Bummer! It was going to be hot. We cracked a courage can, crossed over the rocky embankment and pushed onto the next crossing. Surely there'd be water in there. It runs almost all year long......
Nothing.
There was only one other choice. Keep pushing on up the track, through the big swamp and out onto the plains to the shack or limp home with our tails between our legs... The thunder above us cracked and the rain began to pour really heavily. At least we could cool off in the rain. As you cruise through the bush the smells of rain and dirt and euchalyptus trees are enthralling to the senses. Nothing make you feel more alive than riding fast through the bush with the wind in your hair, eyes open for pigs and on the quest for a waterhole. None of us considered going back for a second.
Our mate caught up to us at the "Barra Bar" shack, a few sheets of iron on posts overlooking the glorious, prehistoric looking Wenlock River canal; home of the biggest population of crocodiles. We cracked a beer, ate our chicken or sausage sangas and soaked in the serenity while the thunder storm cracked and poured over the top of us.
On our way back home the creeks all had water in them but not enough for this girl to wollow in so we pressed on back to the trucks. On the way home we saw a mob of kangaroos that jumped, panicking, in front of us. One big kangaroo side-swiped us and we nealy came a-gutsa but sheer luck saved us, yet again for eating the mud.
No pigs this trip but a bloody fun day in the mud.
Tuesday 13 December 2011
Silverplatter Hunters!
Pig Hunting. It's a popular pastime for hundreds of Cape York and North Qld adults and there's a variety of justifications for the sport but you can't make a comment on it if you've never experienced it. Pigs are in large numbers up here, so much that we have an annual Pig Hunt hauling hundreds of beasts into skip bins. They are destructive, alien-looking beasts and they breed like rabbits. That said, there are many people who take the sport very seriously. Hours of stalking, preparation, stealth training for their dogs, hundreds of dollars worth of supplies not to mention the turf wars over hunting spots. Some people use dogs and knives, others are bow hunters who prefer to stalk their prey themselves and others are shooters.
We are more like "silver platter hunters" and I'll explain why....
For my birthday my friend took me out on a hunt so I could see what the hype was all about. The dogs were on the back of the tray and when they got a whiff they jumped off and the excitement began. Both of us jumped out and we took off into the bush, chasing the sound of the dogs barking. My friend could tell they were on by the way they were barking and we could tell we were getting closer as the sound grew across the forest floor. I fell over at least three times, face first into the mud in my haste to keep up. When we arrived at the scene, we found a sow that had disembowled itself on a log but was not dead - my first kill was on a silver platter and an act of mercy more than anything else but it didn't stop there.... emerging from the innerds was movement and we quickly realised that she was giving birth. With my skinning-knife, I sliced open the bag and out slid a wet piglet. I breathed into it's mouth and it came alive. Yes, I know what you're thinking! OMG! But in the moment all I was thinking about was "oooh baby piglets as pets...." Both my friend and I took a couple back to the trucks to show the kids. I had obviously not thought this through because my hubby was not going to let me in the truck covered in blood and holding as many suckers as I could manage. On the verge of divorce, I lost the battle and the piglets went to heaven to join their mum.
The second time I went out we were trudging through head-high razor grass, cutting my legs up and again I face-planted the mud at least half a dozen times trying to keep up. The dogs would get on the scent and run, then the chase began. Dog trackers are GPSs that pick up on the trackers on the dog's collars so they don't get lost. It's soooo easy to get turned around in the bush and without them we wouldn't have been able to find our way back; let alone the dogs. After about an hour of walking through swamps I was exhausted, and on the verge of spewing, when the dogs got on again. We ran through across the waterway, hoping not to be eaten in the waste high creek, then into the long grass. The dogs had come across a mob of sows and piglets and the screaming will stick in my mind forever. I was panicked and frightened out of my wits end holding up a giant hunting knife as it shook in my hand - imagine a bad scene from a D-grade horror film when the victim has no clue on what she's in for..... I looked for the closest tree to climb before realising I wasn't going to be able to haul my ass up it anyway when I came face-to-face with the boar. He was about 90kg and his tusks could have torn me to shreds if it wanted to. It was a face off and I dont know who was my frightened. Luckily for me, it turned around and ran off. I tried to yell out to my friend whom I'd lost in the adrenaline filled swamp and couldn't see more than 10cm in front of my face for the long grass. Eventually we found each other and went to wash off in the creek. On the verge of passing out the dogs got on again and once they're on, there's no going back. Up we ran, across boulders, cutting my legs to shreds until finally we were upon a sow that had wedged itself in between two trees and wasn't going anywhere. No need for dogs or stealth, it was handed to me, yet again, on a silver platter.
Last week my hubby went to Cairns to get supplies and on the way came across a big black boar eating a cow carcass on the side of the road. They pulled up shortly afterwards to fill up the truck with the remainder of the jerry cans when they thought, what the heck. He had his rifle tucked into the back of the truck so pulled it out and got it ready. What were the chances of it still being there? They pulled out, trailer load behind them to retrace their steps. He stuck his new spotty out the window and low and behold this boar soaked up the rays and stood in the middle of the road just staring at them. It was a sign. No dogs. No hunting or effort at all. Again, a giant boar handed to him on a silver platter.....
People hunt up here on a daily basis but we're starting to think perhaps we're just the "silver platter" hunters.
We are more like "silver platter hunters" and I'll explain why....
For my birthday my friend took me out on a hunt so I could see what the hype was all about. The dogs were on the back of the tray and when they got a whiff they jumped off and the excitement began. Both of us jumped out and we took off into the bush, chasing the sound of the dogs barking. My friend could tell they were on by the way they were barking and we could tell we were getting closer as the sound grew across the forest floor. I fell over at least three times, face first into the mud in my haste to keep up. When we arrived at the scene, we found a sow that had disembowled itself on a log but was not dead - my first kill was on a silver platter and an act of mercy more than anything else but it didn't stop there.... emerging from the innerds was movement and we quickly realised that she was giving birth. With my skinning-knife, I sliced open the bag and out slid a wet piglet. I breathed into it's mouth and it came alive. Yes, I know what you're thinking! OMG! But in the moment all I was thinking about was "oooh baby piglets as pets...." Both my friend and I took a couple back to the trucks to show the kids. I had obviously not thought this through because my hubby was not going to let me in the truck covered in blood and holding as many suckers as I could manage. On the verge of divorce, I lost the battle and the piglets went to heaven to join their mum.
The second time I went out we were trudging through head-high razor grass, cutting my legs up and again I face-planted the mud at least half a dozen times trying to keep up. The dogs would get on the scent and run, then the chase began. Dog trackers are GPSs that pick up on the trackers on the dog's collars so they don't get lost. It's soooo easy to get turned around in the bush and without them we wouldn't have been able to find our way back; let alone the dogs. After about an hour of walking through swamps I was exhausted, and on the verge of spewing, when the dogs got on again. We ran through across the waterway, hoping not to be eaten in the waste high creek, then into the long grass. The dogs had come across a mob of sows and piglets and the screaming will stick in my mind forever. I was panicked and frightened out of my wits end holding up a giant hunting knife as it shook in my hand - imagine a bad scene from a D-grade horror film when the victim has no clue on what she's in for..... I looked for the closest tree to climb before realising I wasn't going to be able to haul my ass up it anyway when I came face-to-face with the boar. He was about 90kg and his tusks could have torn me to shreds if it wanted to. It was a face off and I dont know who was my frightened. Luckily for me, it turned around and ran off. I tried to yell out to my friend whom I'd lost in the adrenaline filled swamp and couldn't see more than 10cm in front of my face for the long grass. Eventually we found each other and went to wash off in the creek. On the verge of passing out the dogs got on again and once they're on, there's no going back. Up we ran, across boulders, cutting my legs to shreds until finally we were upon a sow that had wedged itself in between two trees and wasn't going anywhere. No need for dogs or stealth, it was handed to me, yet again, on a silver platter.
Last week my hubby went to Cairns to get supplies and on the way came across a big black boar eating a cow carcass on the side of the road. They pulled up shortly afterwards to fill up the truck with the remainder of the jerry cans when they thought, what the heck. He had his rifle tucked into the back of the truck so pulled it out and got it ready. What were the chances of it still being there? They pulled out, trailer load behind them to retrace their steps. He stuck his new spotty out the window and low and behold this boar soaked up the rays and stood in the middle of the road just staring at them. It was a sign. No dogs. No hunting or effort at all. Again, a giant boar handed to him on a silver platter.....
People hunt up here on a daily basis but we're starting to think perhaps we're just the "silver platter" hunters.
Crocodile Lake!
Crocodiles are a daily consideration up here and they get big! All waterways at our house are referred to as "Crocodile Lake" which was taken from a Dora the Explorer movie where Dora couldn't cross the river because of the crocodiles....
We've seen them as big as almost 5m in length and there's something prehistoric about them - like swimming T-Rexs. For kids growing up it's hard to teach them what water is safe to swim in and what is most certainly not. After watching a mumma turtle, over a metre wide and longer in length, lay her eggs on the beach a few weeks ago, we were on our way down to the mouth to fish when in the corner of my eye I saw a big splash and something brown and scaly thrashing in the water and before I could readjust my eyes to see what it was; it was gone..... until it resurfaced a moment later. Laying flat on the top of the ocean about 50m off the beach was the "Black Croc" - an infamously enormous and cunning crocodile that frequents our camping beach - with a mumma turtle in its jaws. It thrashed about every 10mins or so but held her under in an attempt to drown her. The process took about an hour to devour and in the end the croc just floated home to the mouth with it still in it's mouth. The kids went to kindy and daycare the next day and show-and-tell consisted of the photos of the whole life cycle from egg laying to croc-attacks, glued onto cardboard in their own little projects....
Because there are crocodiles in every waterway, whether they're fresh or salty, you have to be so careful. We've been out on a friend's property, running the cheribin pots (fresh water prawns/crays that grow to about 40cm) in their man-made dam situated several kilometers from any waterway a few times. They're delicious with garlic and butter on the coals! It's a giant fresh water dam with a rock/sandy wall and you tie the pots to the trees and check them on the hour. My friend spends her Christmas' swimming in this dam and there's permanent watersport nets set up on the side ready for volleyball. I have a rule - never swim if you can't see the bottom (or what's coming for you). A week or two after we left there was another couple out there and as she pulled in her pot, a crocodile snapped it and wrestled her for it! Needless to say, we'll be going back out this holiday to 'catch it'.... We can't have it eating our cheribin. This croc would have had to have walked kilometers in 40C heat to get in there so you can't trust any waterway!
We also frequent the Wenlock River quite often. It's fresh and shallow and perfect for swimming - just not in the dark bits.... People hunt around this river because the pigs come down at night to drink. Our mate "Red" has several hunting dogs and they're not all croc-savvy so after a hunt they were all hot and sticky so his "Hairy Goat" which it was affectionatly called jumped into the dark bit and began to paddle around. Red turned around to watch his dog moving like a perescoped submarine into the middle of the dam and then it was gone. Quick and silent.
Never swim in the dark bits.
We moved up into the Cape when my son was just 5months old so it's all he knows. On a trip to Cairns last holidays he sat on the side of the pool and refused to get in saying it was "Crocodile lake". He sat on the bank for over 3hrs refusing to get in until we realised that there were painted pictures of marine creatures on the bottom..... Dad and I got out after awhile and we were baking on the side when both kids starting screaming out "Snake!" and were quite panicked. We went across to see what all the commotion was and saw the giant anaconda..... attached to the pool vaccuum....
Better to be safe than sorry..... or eaten.
We've seen them as big as almost 5m in length and there's something prehistoric about them - like swimming T-Rexs. For kids growing up it's hard to teach them what water is safe to swim in and what is most certainly not. After watching a mumma turtle, over a metre wide and longer in length, lay her eggs on the beach a few weeks ago, we were on our way down to the mouth to fish when in the corner of my eye I saw a big splash and something brown and scaly thrashing in the water and before I could readjust my eyes to see what it was; it was gone..... until it resurfaced a moment later. Laying flat on the top of the ocean about 50m off the beach was the "Black Croc" - an infamously enormous and cunning crocodile that frequents our camping beach - with a mumma turtle in its jaws. It thrashed about every 10mins or so but held her under in an attempt to drown her. The process took about an hour to devour and in the end the croc just floated home to the mouth with it still in it's mouth. The kids went to kindy and daycare the next day and show-and-tell consisted of the photos of the whole life cycle from egg laying to croc-attacks, glued onto cardboard in their own little projects....
Because there are crocodiles in every waterway, whether they're fresh or salty, you have to be so careful. We've been out on a friend's property, running the cheribin pots (fresh water prawns/crays that grow to about 40cm) in their man-made dam situated several kilometers from any waterway a few times. They're delicious with garlic and butter on the coals! It's a giant fresh water dam with a rock/sandy wall and you tie the pots to the trees and check them on the hour. My friend spends her Christmas' swimming in this dam and there's permanent watersport nets set up on the side ready for volleyball. I have a rule - never swim if you can't see the bottom (or what's coming for you). A week or two after we left there was another couple out there and as she pulled in her pot, a crocodile snapped it and wrestled her for it! Needless to say, we'll be going back out this holiday to 'catch it'.... We can't have it eating our cheribin. This croc would have had to have walked kilometers in 40C heat to get in there so you can't trust any waterway!
We also frequent the Wenlock River quite often. It's fresh and shallow and perfect for swimming - just not in the dark bits.... People hunt around this river because the pigs come down at night to drink. Our mate "Red" has several hunting dogs and they're not all croc-savvy so after a hunt they were all hot and sticky so his "Hairy Goat" which it was affectionatly called jumped into the dark bit and began to paddle around. Red turned around to watch his dog moving like a perescoped submarine into the middle of the dam and then it was gone. Quick and silent.
Never swim in the dark bits.
We moved up into the Cape when my son was just 5months old so it's all he knows. On a trip to Cairns last holidays he sat on the side of the pool and refused to get in saying it was "Crocodile lake". He sat on the bank for over 3hrs refusing to get in until we realised that there were painted pictures of marine creatures on the bottom..... Dad and I got out after awhile and we were baking on the side when both kids starting screaming out "Snake!" and were quite panicked. We went across to see what all the commotion was and saw the giant anaconda..... attached to the pool vaccuum....
Better to be safe than sorry..... or eaten.
Monday 12 December 2011
Cape York Childcare
Childcare was the bane of my existence.
I've been through nannies and schemes like I did 'mother's groups' and any other short-lived fad over the past few years. I've used family, family daycare, registered care, approved care, private nannies at our place, private nannies at their place, friends, friends of friends and I even got so desperate once that I resigned from my job and setup a daycare centre in my own backyard. Yes, it was a 'million-dollars-made-in-my-mind' fad and something we're not allowed to talk about any more....
But not anymore!
With my daughter going into 'big school' in a few weeks, it's just my son that will continue on at his daycare centre. The ladies in there are beyond amazing and cater for every little wildbeast you can imagine - including mine!
I picked up my son from daycare and I asked him if he had a lovely day. His daily reply goes something like this: "Yep, I got 5 pigs today mum". I ask him how? He then explains that he cut one and shot another one with his shotgun but some ran off so him and 'Cam' had to get their dogs out.... The little man has never been 'pigging' in his life but the beautiful ladies at the centre had made them little hunting belts and turned ordinary popper boxes into covered dog-tracker GPSs fitted-out with a straw aerial. They were acting out their weekends and their father's stories. My daughter once got in on the other side and I noticed her legs were covered in faux-band-aids. I asked her what happened. She said she was the pig today......
If it's not imaginary pig-hunting then it's bullriding. "Riding a cowboy today mum" when the ladies have set up saddles on wooden horses out the back and shuffling them off onto the mats, ready to take on the next brave rider.
It would be strange to read this if you lived in a city or in 'civilisation' but for our kids there's no mimmicking T.V shows or asking to watch a movie. Whether they're living it or not, they're still experiencing it and making adventurous memories.
Riding a Cowboy!
I've been through nannies and schemes like I did 'mother's groups' and any other short-lived fad over the past few years. I've used family, family daycare, registered care, approved care, private nannies at our place, private nannies at their place, friends, friends of friends and I even got so desperate once that I resigned from my job and setup a daycare centre in my own backyard. Yes, it was a 'million-dollars-made-in-my-mind' fad and something we're not allowed to talk about any more....
But not anymore!
With my daughter going into 'big school' in a few weeks, it's just my son that will continue on at his daycare centre. The ladies in there are beyond amazing and cater for every little wildbeast you can imagine - including mine!
I picked up my son from daycare and I asked him if he had a lovely day. His daily reply goes something like this: "Yep, I got 5 pigs today mum". I ask him how? He then explains that he cut one and shot another one with his shotgun but some ran off so him and 'Cam' had to get their dogs out.... The little man has never been 'pigging' in his life but the beautiful ladies at the centre had made them little hunting belts and turned ordinary popper boxes into covered dog-tracker GPSs fitted-out with a straw aerial. They were acting out their weekends and their father's stories. My daughter once got in on the other side and I noticed her legs were covered in faux-band-aids. I asked her what happened. She said she was the pig today......
If it's not imaginary pig-hunting then it's bullriding. "Riding a cowboy today mum" when the ladies have set up saddles on wooden horses out the back and shuffling them off onto the mats, ready to take on the next brave rider.
It would be strange to read this if you lived in a city or in 'civilisation' but for our kids there's no mimmicking T.V shows or asking to watch a movie. Whether they're living it or not, they're still experiencing it and making adventurous memories.
Riding a Cowboy!
Living in the top end
Today it rained 75ml in an hour and there's another big one on it's way. I seriously thought the rain was going to come through the roof and as much as you think you're prepared for a storm you never are..... Not much anyone could do about it since the town is practically deserted at this time of year. Much to our parents despair, we've decided to stay in again this year and take advantage of the 7 weeks school holiday to access the many vacant beaches and waterfalls in exchange for the bustly city life.
So why would anyone want to live up here? I mean, there's no shops, no cinema, no 'coffee and cake'. Hell, we hardly even get internet access and our mobiles are dead within 2min of town and thats only if you have a 3G phone.... but that's another story. We have a small Woolies but she's only properly stocked when the barge comes in once a week.
I'll tell you why....
Last week I took my two 'rats' up to a local beach camping for a few days while their dad drove 12hrs across the cape to restock supplies before the full wet comes and the roads all close. I was hoping to see the turtles hatch again. My daughter (4) drove up the 250cc quad with her brother (3) on the back, exploring the beaches for 'treasure'. She wasn't gone long before she came back announcing to our group of mates that she'd found a turtle. We all thought "yeah right" considering she was so calm about it. She insisted so I got on with her and she took me back to where she saw it about 100m up the beach and there, low and behold, was a baby turtle. It had been pecked by a bird and suffering from exposure in the hot sun (about 40C). The sole tracks from a small hole about a metre away. We put it in the ocean but it was clear it wasn't going to last much longer (let alone if it continued swimming in circles like live bait....) "Bubbles" went to heaven shortly afterwards but continued to play with her in a "Weekend at Bernies" fashion for the proceeding 6 hours. Bubbles went swimming in his own bucket-pool, swinging on the hammock, they sat together on a log and watched the sunset over the water, was force-fed some pieces of mullet and then was wrapped up in her blanket on her swag ready for bed. Her eyes were closed albeit 5mins before Bubbles miraculously "walked back to his mother in the night"..... The next day hundreds more turtles burst their way out of that same clutch and made it into the water to begin their long journey where only a small number will ever return.
It's these types of experiences that we want our children to have before they grow into adults and lose their imaginations. A place where kids can be wild and free, where everyone knows them and has their back, where they are safe to adventure and explore, where they can take risks and grow into confident young people.
There will always be time for the bustling life of city dwellers, shops and video games. Its the experiences we have now that shape us into who we will become. It's extra-ordinary living!
So why would anyone want to live up here? I mean, there's no shops, no cinema, no 'coffee and cake'. Hell, we hardly even get internet access and our mobiles are dead within 2min of town and thats only if you have a 3G phone.... but that's another story. We have a small Woolies but she's only properly stocked when the barge comes in once a week.
I'll tell you why....
Last week I took my two 'rats' up to a local beach camping for a few days while their dad drove 12hrs across the cape to restock supplies before the full wet comes and the roads all close. I was hoping to see the turtles hatch again. My daughter (4) drove up the 250cc quad with her brother (3) on the back, exploring the beaches for 'treasure'. She wasn't gone long before she came back announcing to our group of mates that she'd found a turtle. We all thought "yeah right" considering she was so calm about it. She insisted so I got on with her and she took me back to where she saw it about 100m up the beach and there, low and behold, was a baby turtle. It had been pecked by a bird and suffering from exposure in the hot sun (about 40C). The sole tracks from a small hole about a metre away. We put it in the ocean but it was clear it wasn't going to last much longer (let alone if it continued swimming in circles like live bait....) "Bubbles" went to heaven shortly afterwards but continued to play with her in a "Weekend at Bernies" fashion for the proceeding 6 hours. Bubbles went swimming in his own bucket-pool, swinging on the hammock, they sat together on a log and watched the sunset over the water, was force-fed some pieces of mullet and then was wrapped up in her blanket on her swag ready for bed. Her eyes were closed albeit 5mins before Bubbles miraculously "walked back to his mother in the night"..... The next day hundreds more turtles burst their way out of that same clutch and made it into the water to begin their long journey where only a small number will ever return.
It's these types of experiences that we want our children to have before they grow into adults and lose their imaginations. A place where kids can be wild and free, where everyone knows them and has their back, where they are safe to adventure and explore, where they can take risks and grow into confident young people.
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