Moreton Bay’s islands are close to Brisbane, but f
I pulled back the tent flap and gasped. The scene was breathtaking. Between tall pine and graceful, mottled-bark gum trees, I could see the sun – a bright, burning sphere in the western sky. It was hanging above the horizon, not quite to the point of setting. I have never seen a sun so large; it was as though Earth had taken several celestial steps closer to bask in the fading daylight. Burning with a rich fuchsia hue, it lit the entire sky with a gorgeous, rosy haze. The bay beneath it mirrored the tranquil scene with an occasional wave flashing scarlet. The edges of the ocean lapped along the perfect, outstretched beach. Bleached sand glowed with a pastel-pink warmth that seeped past the kayaks and through the trees to the entrance of our tent. The only sounds were from evening birds and gently rocking waves.
As we drank in deep breaths of the pure, clean air, my companion remarked that we had "million dollar views" for the evening. I certainly felt privileged to be gazing at this scene and savouring the memories of the day’s experiences. Not only were Ben and I camping at a site bordering on perfection, but several hours earlier, we had sea kayaked across the very water we were contemplating. We had set out to experience the most Moreton Bay had to offer, and we were being fully rewarded.
Although Australia boasts spectacular icons like Uluru and the Sydney Opera House, it is also ‘choc-a-bloc’ full of magical, less tourist-infested destinations. Situated in Southern Queensland at the mouth of the Brisbane River, Moreton Bay provides one such idyllic escape.
The Bay has over 300 islands, although some are simply composed of mangroves and sand spits. The larger islands have permanent populations and are serviced by a comprehensive ferry network connecting them to Brisbane’s outer suburbs. With the Bay teaming with wildlife and the islands characterized by beautiful stretches of shoreline, Ben and I were eager to get a closer look. What better way than from the intimacy of a sea kayak?
We decided to embark on a two-day trip to North Stradbroke, or ‘Straddie’, with a local kayak touring company. Straddie is a sand island, and like its more famous cousin, Fraser Island, is composed entirely of sand. There are some villages and sealed roads on the northern side of the island, but a large mining operation dominates the southern segment. Our destination was Blakesley Beach, a lovely stretch on the western shore bordered by mangroves and accessible only by boat or 4WD vehicles. Over the two days, we would paddle 22km and catch a glimpse of the magic of Moreton Bay.
With the weather promising to be hot and sunny, our Saturday morning departure arrived with anticipation. After a thorough introductory lesson on the how-to’s of paddling and safety, we put our kayaks into the water and pushed off from the mainland. Once we were comfortable with our boats, we left the sheltered waters to venture across to our first island destination.
We glided along beside several beaches crowded with weekend BBQ’s, but as we paddled further into the open bay, their calls and laughter merged with the sounds of splashing paddles and frothing waves. Although the sun was rippling across the water and burning our faces, a strong ‘nor’easter’ was quickly increasing the size of the swells. Ben and I learned to paddle together as we tackled the choppy water and turned our faces to the breeze.
While concentrating on maintaining a strong stroke, I caught a glimpse of brilliant blue in the water beside the boat. It looked like a floating plastic bag, but as I started to curse some thoughtless litterbug, I saw hundreds of the bloated bags. With closer inspection, I realized they were actually large jellyfish with thick, fingerlike tentacles and electric-blue innards. They were gently drifting in a water world calmer than the surface pounding my kayak.
During lunch at the uniquely named Coochie Mudlo Island, strong winds rocked the bay into a rough chop. As we stood on the beach and looked over to our final destination, I noticed how tiny the trees on the far shore seemed and how big the white caps were in between. As we returned to our low-riding boat, the guides gave us some pointers on how to stabilize ourselves. I must have betrayed the butterflies in my stomach because one of the guides smiled warmly and reassured me. When we pushed off from shore, the rolling surf swept across the top of the boat and deposited seawater into my lap. I gave a shaky thumbs-up back to the guide.
Read Part 2