The Queensland Quickstep
Far North Queensland, Australia
By
Steve Bond
The first real sign that we had arrived in the rainforest came as Bob, the coach driver, unloaded our bags from the bus. "Watch out for the stinging tree mate," he said, nodding towards an innocent looking plant beside me, its large heart-shaped leaves resembling Adam & Eve's attempt at clothing.
"Brush against one of these and you'll be sorry," said Bob, and he wasn't wrong, for if you placed these over your private parts they'd be throbbing for all the wrong reasons. The stinging tree, Bob explained, acts like a stinging nettle only much worse. Millions of microscopic stings coat each leaf, embedding themselves under the skin of anyone unlucky enough to brush against it. "Drives horses mad," said Bob ruefully as he clambered back into the coach and drove away.
If I'd arrived in Cow Bay twenty years previously I would have witnessed a completely different place. During the mid-80's the whole area was embroiled in a bitter turf war between the local timber industry and conservationists trying to save the last remnants of Australian rainforest. Thankfully, the good guys (eventually) won, and in 1988 the Queensland Wet Tropics World Heritage Area was born, signalling the start of a burgeoning eco-tourism industry, the Far North's biggest business. The Area stretches for 9000 square kilometres, from Townsville in the south to Cooktown in the north, including the tropical rainforests of the Daintree and Cape Tribulation National Parks.
Bob's warning about the stinging tree was just the beginning of a weekend of surprises. Before coming to the rainforest I expected to avoid spiders and snakes, not plant life. But, as I found out during the Crocodylus Village Resort's mandatory welcome meeting, nothing is as it seems in the rainforest.
"This is a cassowary," said Amy, holding a picture of a strange bird that resembled an emu with a blue head. "These birds will attack if provoked." We all laughed, waiting for the punchline. Amy's face remained serious. "No, really, they can kill!" The smiles vanished. "But don't worry," said Amy, "they don't come around that often."
"How often, is often?" I asked.
"Oh, every other day or so," she replied, pointing to a clump of trees, "they come to eat the plums."
We all turned to look - the trees were outside our cabins. Amy was obviously intent on scaring us silly, because she quickly moved on to other dangerous animals to should watch out for - the deadly, bird eating spiders, one of which nearly killed a guide the day before, and a giant python that lived in the walls of the kitchen, coming out at night to feast on wild rodents. The meeting over, we shuffled off to our cabins with a newfound respect for the rainforest.
Crocodylus Village is built amongst rainforest, so you don't so much watch wildlife, as live amongst it. Each of the 16 cabins are made from a mixture of local wood, canvas and mosquito mesh, combining to make a jungle home that provides a basic shelter from the elements. A huntsman spider was waiting for me in mine, sitting happily on my pillow. At first I though it was made of plastic - a kind of welcome joke laid on by the staff - but a sudden burst of speed quickly convinced me it was the real thing. Random screams across the camp confirmed this wasn't an isolated event.
Throughout the rest of the village lurked animals and insects just waiting to jump out and surprise you. Golden Orb spiders stretched huge webs across foot trails conveniently placed at face level. Stick insects nestled in the folds of my bedding and gangs of green tree frogs hopped around the shower cubicle. Moths, the size of small birds, bounced off flickering light bulbs and mosquitoes hunted in cloud-sized packs. During dinner it wasn't unusual for football-sized Bandicoots to scuttle under the tables looking for food, brushing against feet and prompting me to spit beer across the table.
I could deal with the animals during daylight, but a rainforest in the middle of the night is a different matter. Walking to the toilet block with only a penlight for protection is a test of nerves, and each night I scuttled along the path, avoiding spider's webs and whimpering with fear at the slightest sound. One evening, I was hurrying past the plum trees, when a couple of harmless brush turkeys shot out from the bush, causing me to let out a high pitched scream as they gobbled off in a panic. Never has there been a greater excuse for wetting the bed.
On the second day I jumped a lift in the Village's mini-bus to nearby Cow Bay Beach, a stretch of tropical white sand separating the rainforest from the reef. A bright yellow sign greeted my arrival: 'Marine stingers are present in these waters during the summer months'. It's one of nature's sick jokes, to provide beautiful blue waters and then prevent you from swimming by filling the sea with box jellyfish, a critter with a potentially fatal sting. If it doesn't kill you, a lash from its poisoned tentacles will give you a slap, and a scar, to remember. "It's like being whipped with hot wire," reminisced Joel, one of the local guides.
That evening, as the cicadas kicked off their regular performance and a wave of mosquitoes arrived for dinner, Joel busied himself handing out torches and issuing instructions.
"Check your batteries," he said, "you don't want to be caught out there without light." The 'out there' he was referring too was the jungle, for we were embarking on a little expedition. Each evening, one of the village's resident guides led a nature walk through the rainforest, pointing out the wildlife that our inexperienced eyes would otherwise miss.
Stalking in silence, we stumbled upon sleeping birds perched on the ends of spaghetti thin branches, alert to the vibration of hungry snakes. Brush turkey nests, huge piles of earth two metres high, rose from the jungle floor flickering in the light of fervent fireflies. Tapping the bark of a fruit tree, Joel aroused the anger of army of green ants, rushing from within the tree to defend their territory.
Keeping close, we progressed deeper into the forest, accompanied by the wind in the trees and the squelching of boots in the thick brown mud. Normally, you wouldn't catch me dead in the rainforest at night, but with Joel it felt like an adventure - a taste of the wild with the calm reassurance of safety. Then my torch died. Suddenly, it wasn't such a nice place and I hurried along to keep up with the group.
Alarm clocks are obsolete in the rainforest. As the first rays of sunlight break through the canopy a thousand hungry birds screech the arrival of a new day, waking you the way nature intended. Encouraged by the previous night's excitement, I pulled on my boots and headed to the start of the orange ropewalk - a self-guided tour through the rainforest. "Stay on the path!" yelled Joel, like a warning from a werewolf film.
It didn't take long for my confident exuberance to be dissolved by paranoia. I was less than 100-metres into the trail, but already the rainforest had closed in, sealing off all sounds from the civilised world. Geckos scurried for safety as I battled a path through the bush, brushing away branches and ducking beneath webs. Feeling completely alone, and very vulnerable, fear slowly took control, turning my purposeful stride into - what I like to call - the Queensland Quickstep. I hurried along the path, jumping at the slightest sound. The snorting of a wild pig behind me increased the quickstep into a steady trot, the bush becoming thicker, the rope becoming obscured by thick mud. Out of breath, I stopped in a small clearing to check the map and gulp down some water. The giant eye of a tree dragon caught my attention, watching me as it gripped motionless to a thick branch. I don't know who was more scared, but I scurried away just to be sure.
The next day Bob screeched to a halt in a cloud of red dust beside the stinging tree. It was time to go back to Cairns. Like most visitors to the Cape Tribulation area we'd survived our short stay without mishap - no stings, slashes, burns or abrasions - just a healthy crop of mosquito bites. A group of new arrivals clambered off the bus and stood waiting for Bob to unload their bags, unaware of any danger.
"Watch out for the stinging tree, mate," warned Bob.
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