Folk come to Cape Palmerston for its beach, the fishing and the 4WD adventures to be had here, or in many cases, to just relax and unwind. For us the fishing was very limited and we did only one small adventure in the Cruiser, but we did walk the beach on more than one occasion, so let's begin there.
Remember...this is only 100 metres away! The 'nearby' sands are accessed in two ways, by foot or 4WD, but whatever the mode of transport, the journey begins by taking the track out past the camping area of the park.
Where it meets the coastal forest, the sandy 4WD track runs off to the left. This provides access to the nearby Knobler's Creek, a mainly tidal inlet which does provide quite good fishing for land based anglers (who don't mind sharing their environment with masses of midges.....the sheltered waters and banks of the creek are sandfly central!
We did walk this track out of interest on one occasion, but did not bother taking the Cruiser along it....I had no intention of standing about on the creek banks providing the midges with a liquid lunch (my blood).
The firm foot track to the beach leads off through the undergrowth and is a bit more than it initially seems. This is quite a feat of engineering, well, earth moving at least.
Much of the area along the edge of the beach front is given over to muddy flats, idea for the tangle of vegetation which thrives here, but hell to walk through.
To provide a safe and comfortable track for those visiting this park, the redoubtable owners have carted tonnes and tonnes of soil and gravel to create a dry, raised walkway to the beach. Without this, those wishing to wander the sands, a pair of 'wellies' rather than thongs would be essential footwear.
So, well done folks....even idiots taking off 'Where's Wally' can now stroll to the beach in comfort.
The raised section ends with a sandy stretch as the beach comes into view.
And there is no doubt that this is quite an expansive beach. At the time we took this shot, looking to the south, the tide was well up, but as I have mentioned earlier, the water's edge can be up to a kilometre distant at full low.
The curve of the bay (here looking north to the entrance of Knobler's Creek) between the two enclosing headlands is probably a couple of kilometres long
and from here we could see out to a couple of the islands which make up the Northumberland group.
We did toddle along the entire stretch of the beach on a couple of occasions, and I did break out the rods and reels for one fishing venture on a rising tide. I had been told that the sand whiting were on the chew, but my two hours of constant back peddling in the face of the advancing water produced only two dart (wretched eating) and one highly surprising good sized northern garfish.
As is always the case with these things, I found out on the day we were leaving that the whiting bite on the low tide here....I watched one chap cleaning over a dozen fish, but as he said, he had walked over two kilometres to catch them. Ah, well...next time!
A visit to the coast at Notch Point, just south of Greenhill, is highly recommended for all who come to this part of the world for both the fishing and the scenery. We decided this would be a good way to spent a morning and duly headed out along the narrow local road through the high stands of uncut sugar cane.
And herein lies another story, one which unfolded in more detail as we moved further north. The cane season this year is presenting huge problems for both growers and the mills. Some of the crop has been cut but very little. As the clouds in this shot indicates, the weather this winter in north QLD has been unseasonably wet, bloody wet in fact.
For all but a few lucky growers whose cane matured early, the fields have been far too wet and sodden to allow the cane harvesting machinery to do their thing. This has been a continuing saga throughout most of the cane growing areas and is something I'll have more to say about later.
The comfort of the sealed surface was not long lived....and what was I saying about water!
There is a listed free campsite on the Notch Point road, and sure enough, it was occupied. It lies on the banks of the Marion Creek which might appeal to some,
but with one of the ubiquitous crocodile warning signs standing nearby and the ever present hazard of midges and mosquitoes for whom the mud and mangroves of the creek banks is an 'insect Hilton', why would you?
We drove on, past one of the biggest green ant nests we had ever seen (yet another local insect pest), musing about the lengths to which some people will go to save $30 a night.
Our way was soon barred, but a closer inspection of the gate notice revealed that although this is private property, all comers are welcome.....but shut the gate!
The trusty gate girl in our crew did just that, after she had kindly opened it for me.
From now on the track through the scrub became a little more challenging.
As we ploughed through mud bath
after mud bath the extent of the recent rain was obvious. I began to wonder if we would actually make it all the way through to the coast.
By now the water on the track was not all we were seeing. The Marion Creek was in full tidal flood. The incoming flow was hissing and bubbling around the trunks of the mangrove stands at a ferocious rate. This was the most impressive a tidal display we had seen on this coast.
And then our adventure came to a sudden end as I suspected it might. This water hazard was just too risky for the co-pilot's liking, and I was not prepared to make the 'wade' test to check the bottom and the depth. By now the track had become very muddy and to have ploughed on through without some preliminary exploration would have been foolhardy.
As we retraced our steps we were passed by a party of obviously hardy fishermen and 4WD enthusiasts. I strongly suspect that had we met them at the 'water hazard' we may well have pushed on knowing that retrieval would have been on hand in the event of a mishap, but that was not to be. The views from Notch Point will just have to wait for another occasion.
One thing we quickly learnt at Cape Palmerston was that a boat was essential for real success in capturing a harvest from the sea. Many of the regulars come thus equipped, and reap the reward. This was but one of many 'muddies' we saw going into the cooking pots.
The chap admiring the size of this beauty had become a park mate of ours. In one of those 'who's following who?' incidents, not uncommon on the road, we had first come across Wayne, alias 'Batman' and his goodly spouse Robyn (hence the nickname) at Hervey Bay, and here at Palmerston we found them on the site opposite ours.
We joined this very pleasant couple under their awning for happy hour drinks on more than one occasion
including one (once the wind and rain had cleared) around Wayne's very efficient portable camp fire.
During the 'high' season this park encourages those 'fishing widows' who while away their solitary hours in craft making to offer them for sale at the Sunday camp kitchen market.
Although there was not a huge array of goods on offer on our one visit, some of the art work was of a surprisingly high standard, if not entirely to our taste.
One real drawback with the Cape Palmerston park, or more to the point, its location, is a distinct lack of ready communication. Trying to present additional offerings on this blogsite was completely out of the question, and even mobile phone communication was spasmodic and patchy. The only spot in the entire camp where comz could be assured was at the park office, some 300 metres up the hill from our site.
This was to prove a real headache for us one fateful cold, dark and windy night. I was sound asleep when I sensed Liz stirring. When I surfaced I soon realised that she was in real trouble.....intense abdominal pain accompanied by serious vomiting. Things went from bad to worse. She was soon writhing in agony, sweating and continuing to fill kitchen bowls as rapidly as I could deliver them to her. We both suspected a ruptured appendix or something of equal severity.....this was no time to 'sweat it out'.
So off I galloped in the pitch blackness, up the hill to the office verandah where, juggling my torch and mobile phone, I dialled 000 and went through the surprisingly long interrogation which I now know precedes the dispatch of a local mobile medical saviour.
I enquired as to where the ambulance would be coming from and made an estimate of its ETA, having told the lass on the phone to inform the crew I would meet them at the office and direct them to our site. That done, it was a gallop back down the hill to check on her nibs, mop her fevered brow and get a 'hospital' bag prepared, before again storming back against the wind and gravity to await the arrival of the expected crew.
Fortunately my calculations of the probable travelling time were spot on. I was soon directing the solo 'ambo' (funding restrictions do not allow two on night shift....something I found extraordinary for a host of reasons) to our mobile bed of pain.
I'll not bore you with any more fine detail. Suffice it to say, after pain killing injections, the administration of an anti-emetic and a gleaning of the immediate patient history, the decision was taken to transfer Liz to the Sarina hospital. So, some hour and a half after the onset of her travails, Missy was perched up in the front seat of the quite large ambulance vehicle and on her way.
And the cause of all this fuss.....kidney stones, one of the most painful conditions imaginable. They all passed during the morning, and by early afternoon we were back at camp. A pain free peace had returned to our world (well Liz's at least) and we were now much better equipped with appropriate medications and increased knowledge to manage any repeat episode.
We left Cape Palmerston with mixed feelings. The lack of ready communications had bitten us, and although the park and its facilities are of a very high standard indeed, a return visit is problematic....we shall see.
Our next destination was to be Proserpine, a town we knew quite well from our previous stay at nearby Conway Beach, but one in which the caravan park was to be a new experience.
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