CONWAY BEACH - AIRLIE BEACH (20 - 28 AUGUST)

As I mentioned in my last blog, Conway Beach had been living large in my imagination for a couple of years.  The photos I had seen and the associated promotional blurb which lauded the location of the park on a wide beach at the mouth of the Proserpine River, a seaside idyll where fish would virtually leap onto one's line from beach or river bank etc, etc, etc. sadly did not match reality. 
 



This is the photo on which many of my hopes had been pinned  in which the caravan park itself can be seen immediately to the rear of the small village on the seafront with, of course, the Proserpine River extending off into the background.

 

One of the things which will remain imprinted on my brain as a result of this trip is to regard all prospective destinations with a healthy dose of scepticism and a very open mind.  You may recall that I had formed the view that promotional photographers in this part of the world must be banned from working at any time other than on a full tide.  This aerial shot of our new temporary home is a case in point, for here is the true picture of the beach and river mouth at low tide,

 

  

looking out to sea, and,

 

 

after a tramp of what we estimated to be at least 1.5 kms, looking back towards the coast and the barely visible row of seafront houses.  And this was not the lowest tide we experienced whilst there!  A combination of tide variations of up to 6 metres and the very flat seabed resulted in these extraordinary tidal runs, which meant that my preconceived vision of an area similar to, for example, Southport at the mouth of the Onkaparinga River, were as far from reality as we were from home.

 

Ah, well, lessons learnt and off to make the most of things, which did not include beach fishing.  Having said that, I must make it clear that this is a fishing park.  In fact, many of those insitu on our arrival had been there for two to three months.  Like Karumba on the Gulf, Conway Beach was the wintering destination of choice for many, some of whom had been coming here for many, many years.  And there are fish and muddies to be had by the bucket load, from a boat.  I would estimate that we were in the minority group of about 10 percent of park residents whose equipment did not include a topper tinnie.

 

 

Despite all, the park itself did live up to its reputation as being spacious, colourful and quiet. Conway Beach could best be described as a hamlet, and the park reception area and adjoining cafe/camp happy hour area serves as the local convenience store and take-away shop amongst other things.

 

 

 

 

 

It is an extremely popular spot, not only for those of us escaping the travails of the southern winter, but for many Queenslanders who make this their annual fishing destination.  Notwithstanding the fact we had booked well ahead, on the day of our arrival we took up the last available site which would take a van of our size, and this was in the park 'back blocks'.  Just as we found in Sawtell two years ago, sites which back onto forest areas can provide interesting visitors.

 

 

 

 

'Bernice' the brush turkey paid us regular visits, even to  the extent of wandering though our annex area, where, would you believe, the great black hunter viewed her with total disdain (we have worked out that Max does not consider any bird longer than 15 cms to be potential prey...beyond that they are objects to be ignored in the hope they will just go away),

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

as did  'Grenville' our resident goanna who was also of proportions which did not interest Max, but certainly held my attention!

Max, however, did discover in short order that there was a plethora of local lizard life which fell right within his sights.  And don't ever let anyone try to convince you that cats do not have decent menories.  Each morning the 'black panther' would howl at the door and, when released with Liz in tow on the other end of his lead, would do the rounds of all the nearby areas where his interest had been previously stimulated, such as here at the edge of our slab.

 

 

And for all who are now bemoaning the loss of our valuable wildlife, I must report that the pictured skink, as is always the case with Max on the job, escaped this encounter totally unscathed.  I am sure Max would starve if left to his own devices in the wild!

 

Whilst still on the subject of our park, it is indeed colourful (with a local model to match).

Even the 'heads' are painted in theme.

 

And whilst fishing was off the agenda, and the lack of Internet access on site was a pain, the folk of Conway Beach were delightfully friendly and we did enjoy using it as a base for our exploration of Airlie Beach, Shute Harbour and Cape Gloucester, about which we have a remarkable tale to tell later.

 

 

 

Unlike Conway Beach, Airlie Beach fell precisely within expectations.  Flash apartments, on the hillside taking in the views,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 and on the marina,

 

 

 

 

a narrow beach, mud flats and moored yatchs



 

 

and a main street crowded with backpackers, tourists from a cruise ship at anchor off shore, together with an eclectic assortment of locals, provided a general scene which we have seen replayed in so many similar 'resort' venues. 

 

 



 

And at the dire risk of sounding like an old fart who cannot remember the heady days of his youth (and I can), the picture was completed for me as I wandered past one of the several large, open hotel bars to see a group of 'footy trip' lads, all sub-twenty something, all in cloned T shirts which advertised their purpose (and in case they forgot who they were with), well into the contents of tables sloshing with jugs of beer, and already 'loud' at 1130 hours.

 

Despite a well manicured and laid out esplanade promenade strip (not well represented in the shot)

 

 

and what appeared to be an inviting and well situated yacht club on the foreshore, we decided after an hour or so that Airlie Beach held only limited appeal for us. 

 

Shute Harbour was next on the exploratory agenda.

 

 

 

The dock facilities, the 'sea gateway' to the Whitsunday Islands, lie at the seaward (that almost sounds trite!) end of a long inlet which, as can be seen, also provides a very sound looking mooring for yachts and other private craft.

 

Hayman, Hook, Daydream, South Molle, Whitsunday, Long, Dent, Linderman (which we could see from Conway Beach) and of course, the famous (?) Hamilton Island, make up this group which I suspect is the best known of all the island groups of the Great Barrier Reef region.  They have all certainly been well promoted over the years, but, on all the information I could glean (including in detail from the barber I visited in Airlie Beach...barbers and cabbies...where would we be without them?)  the post Yasi tourist dollar has been conspicuous by its absence.  This is a tale consistent with that of Mission Beach to the north and its nearby islands, and Airlie Beach itself.

 

Whilst Hamilton Island boasts an airstrip, somewhat pompously (and incorrectly) proclaimed in the tourist information sheets as the 'Great Barrier Reef Airport' (those involved with the major airport at Proserpine are apparently mightily miffed by government concessions and the like which the owners of Hammo have managed to cajole, [extort was the word used by the barber] in respect of this facility), this is the only resort island in the group to do so.  Shute Harbour provides the point of embarkation for those whose visit is by sea, including a couple of business like barges which resupply the group as needed.

 

 

 

Notwithstanding the fact that low cloud was still hanging along the inlet at 1000 hours, we found Shute Harbour to be a very pretty spot, one which would, no doubt, serve well to whet the appetites of those en route to their 'holiday of a lifetime in the sun'.

 

Our visit to Shute proved that a 'ferry terminal' is indeed a 'ferry terminal', some are just more picturesquely located than others!

 

The harbour also provides quite substantial general docking as well as a large, and on the day of our visit, obviously well used public boat ramp.  All in all, an impressive and active small port facility in a delightful setting.

 

For us, the general ambiance of Shute Harbour provided a real counterpoint to the hubbub of Airlie Beach, but more delights were in store as we then travelled on to Cape Gloucester.  A story for another day including, as I alluded to previously, another of those extraordinary travellers' tales of coincidence and chance meetings.  Stay tuned!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CARDWELL - PROSERPINE (20 - 22 AUGUST)

I recall some time ago suggesting that caravan travel provided a mix of days, most good, but some eminently forgettable.  Our trip south from Cardwell presented us with just such a day, but not until we were well into it.

Liz and I have agreed that, unless there is a pressing need to the contrary, a daily journey of about four hours maximum is our limit.  At our usual towing speed of not more that 90 kph, and allowing for breaks, traffic problems and roadworks, this generally means around 250 kms under our wheels.  And we plan accordingly.  As they say, a plan is nothing more than a blueprint for change!

 

So it was as we made our way back past Townsville and into the unknown (for us as travellers) south towards Ayr, Bowen and the Whitsunday Coast.  Home Hill, a little town some few kms south of Ayr, was our chosen destination for the day.  As is our want when merely overnighting, we had booked a large, drive-through site which would preclude the need to unhitch.  All sorted. A doddle.  Until we arrived!

 

Our appointed site number obtained at the office, into the park we drove.  And, five minutes later, out of the park we drove.  It transpired that our originally booked site had remained occupied by someone who had chosen to stay on beyond their original booking date.  We had been shunted.  So what, one asks?  Well as you know we are what is known in the trade as a 'big rig'.  The alternative site offered us was so small that I initially drove right past it!  After a somewhat terse discussion between him and herself, and confirmation that site 15 was indeed our intended home for the night, followed by an inspection on foot, I decided that the only way I could possibly squeeze us in would entail the complete destruction of our prospective neighbour's awning on the one side or significant collateral damage to a vehicle on the other.  Fortunately common sense overcame a certain natural desire to rise to the challenge presented to us by  the otherwise delightful, but seriously spatially challenged young girls running things, and off we went lamenting.

 

Home Hill does provide a huge free campsite adjacent to the main street, but our comfort stop there revealed that 'there was no room at the inn'.  Bowen then became our alternative destination.  A scurry through the caravan park book, some moments of indecision, a phoned booking, and we were off again.

 

Cane country still.  In fact Ayr is reputed to be the centre of the largest of the cane growing areas around the Burdikin River and beyond.  But I promised enough of cane.  One highlight of this part of the trip, however, was the crossing of the Burdikin River itself  just out of Home Hill.  We had become used to the large rivers of the east coast on our previous travels, but this was right up there.

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The approach was daunting enough, but then came the actual crossing, all at a posted speed of 50 kph (in large signs) which we assiduously obeyed,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

over the barely running Burdikin River. We could but imagine what this must look like when in full spate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The approach into Bowen along the Bruce Highway brings with it a real change in the topography. The endless cane fields (I know I promised no more about cane, but do you realise that Australia is the 3rd largest producer in the world and that over 4,000 cane farms  ranging from 100 to 1,000 hectares and more each are spread right along the eastern coastal strip between Mossman in far north Queensland to Grafton in NSW...it is an enormous industry...and critically important to so many communities in this part of the world...that really is it!) give way to some quite spectacular market gardens which, along with fishing and mining, are a real feature of the local Bowen economy. 

 

Bowen is located in what are know as the 'dry tropics'.  The nearby Gloucester Island produces a rain shadow over the  Don River valley, which combined with the rich alluvial soil of the area, make for ideal vegetable growing conditions.  The reduced rainfall also results in grassy plains areas well suited for cattle grazing.  It was fascinating to see just how much topographical change resulted from the presence of one island and the effects of the sea breezes which are a constant in this part of the world.

And of course, as we had read (and were later told), it really doesn't rain much in Bowen...not until the Marshies arrived that is!  We had chosen a park on the Bruce Highway just out of the town itself as our overnight destination, as a matter of convenience more than anything else.  Bad decision.

How the Bowen Caravan Park and Tourist Village can claim to be 'award winning' remains a complete mystery to us both, notwithstanding its expansive 'water feature playground'.  The one thing which can be said about the rain is that at least our drive-through site was mud rather than dust (I'd rather dirty boots than asthma).  What a wilderness greeted us as we made our way past some quite reasonable parts of the park to  the drive-through section. 




The area immediately behind our site was littered with what looked like building debris, the stand which carried our electrical plug was so rusted it almost fell over as I plugged in, and the site was so short that we could not remain hitched up without occupying a good half of the roadway (which is considered less than polite not to mention potentially damaging).  And, as you can see, the weather was rotten, which in all fairness could not be blamed on the park owners, but what the heck, I was in no mood by now to be either logical or generous of spirit.

And to add insult to injury, the 'drinking water' was a muddy brown colour ("we just have to take what the council gives us", was the response to my enquiry at the office about its drinking safety) and the showers were timed!  A five minute limit for hot water which, by the time it had run up and was flowing, was reduced to about three and a half minutes of practical scrubbing time before the whole thing shut down for a five minute reset period.  Now we have no problem with the need for water conservation  (there is no shortage in Bowen) and we understand that power generally is becoming more expensive, but this was ridiculous.  And yes, there is more.  Even this paltry hot water offering was closed down altogether between 2200 hours and 0600 hours the following morning.   What nonsense!

We were both too tired to seriously contemplate changing parks so, after your correspondent indulged himself with a world class dummy spit (I am truly glad we had no neighbours on our arrival) we decided to make the most of the fact we had to unhitch and toddled off in the rain to have a cursory look around Bowen.

It was indeed unfortunate that the weather was so gloomy because we discovered a lookout from which the views to the north across the Don River valley and beyond to the Abbot Point coal loading facility and Gloucester Island and south over the town itself, were spectacular. (No photos...no point...apart from which I was not feeling at all creative at this stage!)

The Bowen beaches did present much promise, but the marina and sailing club area left us underwhelmed, as did the remainder of the town generally.  I guess the only real point of interest was to have a look at the Grandveiw Hotel and its surrounds which formed the set for the movie 'Australia' which was shot entirely in the Bowen area.

And, as we discovered after pulling out rejoicing the following morning, Bowen does sport a 'big thing', the Big Mango. 

With a renewed zest for travelling only a good night's sleep and bright skies can produce, we pushed on south on the relatively short hop to Proserpine and thence to Conway Beach where we had decided to spent a week (hopefully) fishing and exploring the Airlie Beach area.  The Whitsundays.  Another area, which for us until now, had been merely an exotic image producing name.

I had always previously associated Proserpine with its airport, the 'aerial gateway to the Whitsunday Islands', but in reality this facility has no direct connection with the town.  It is almost 20 kms to the south.  Proserpine itself reminded us both so much of Tully.  Their omnipresent sugar mills are the main feature of both towns,

as can be seen here with the mill stacks looming over the far end of the main street, a street of 'tired' buildings, and again like Tully, where pubs (this is but one of the four in the relatively short main drag...note the quaint little building next to it) are a town feature.

 
Proserpine is well served with supermarkets, and we did make a couple of trips during our stay at Conway Beach to resupply.  I have a theory that large shopping centres provide the ideal venue to observe (and make outrageous value judgements about ) the locals and Prosperpine proved no exception.  Here again we noted a striking similarity to Tully, about which I make no further comment other than 'socio-economic'.





My constant quest for the unusual did produce one real find. I am sure you are aware by now that local RSL Clubs are a matter of interest to me, and in Proserpine we come across what, from the front, appeared to be a quite ordinary building.




But an examination of the side of the building revealed a set of the most beautifully crafted

stained glass windows, set as you can see in the blandest of walls.  The club was not open at the time of our visit and we were unable to view them with the light shining through.  I like to think they would be inspirational. 

So, after a quick jaunt through Proserpine (it really doesn't take long to 'do' the town) we made our way down along the Proserpine River through yet more cane country to the little seaside town of Conway Beach, a destination I had first discovered when browsing the net some two years ago on a dreary Adelaide winter day whilst dreaming of adventures to come in the tropics.


























 

CARDWELL - INGHAM (15 - 19 AUGUST)

Now I know that many would deride the fact that our next move was a tiny doddle of 90 kms, but we were just so reluctant to leave the warmth of the tropical north Queensland coast. 

 

Even when the weather is damp and ostensibly miserable, it is never cold.  Indeed we have been enjoying overnight minimum temperatures which have been higher than Adelaide's recent maxima.  But whatever you do, dear reader, do not take this as unadulterated praise of this part of the world.  There really is no such thing a a 'free lunch' and here the price we pay is being constantly smothered in sticky 'Bushman' to ward off the ever present sandflies and mozzies and but gazing longingly at azure waters in which a swim is an invitation to become a crocodile's lunch or a victim of the local 'stingers' (which can be significantly serious to the point of potentially fatal...hence all the vinegar stations along the beaches).  And whilst we know that this time of the year is reckoned to be the 'off' season for the box and irrikangi jelly fish, notices which proclaim that this is the time of 'least risk' do not inspire us to frolic with gay abandon in the briny.  The beaches of South Australia are a much safer prospect.  If only we could ban all but a week or two of the antipodean winter!

 

Anyway, off to Cardwell, the only town in this area which is actually right on the coast.  It looks over the Hinchinbrook Channel which (strangely) separates the mainland from Hinchinbrook Island and lies immediately to the north of Port Hinchinbrook which you may remember was the area in which dozens of yachts were piled on top of one another as a result of Yasi.  It was a photo which went around the world.

Cardwell did suffer dreadfully.  Much restorative work has been done, but there is so much more to do.  As has sadly been the case for years, the folk of Cardwell (in common with many others in this area) have had to wait a ludicrously long time to receive their insurance entitlements.  As a result many homes still stand as stark reminders of the totally unforgiving nature of a Category 6 cyclone. 

And yet, perfidious Mother Nature spared some.

Here, on Cardwell's Esplanade, stand two almost identical houses, one of which remains relatively intact whilst the other, as can be seen, has lost all but the lower stone walls.  Repairs to the local motel have almost been completed, but to add insult to injury, the newly restored roof has recently sprung a leak with results which are more than a mere inconvenience.

  

Despite the fact that a canvass cover is still a feature of the sloping roof on the northern end of the motel complex, we could not help but admire the sense of humour (or is it fatalism...or perhaps clever marketing..playing on the sympathy of visitors?) displayed on the Motel sign (look closely!)

The buildings were not the only casualties.  The office at our caravan park displayed photos of the main street more than half washed away.  I have to confess that I found this almost impossible to believe until we made a closer examination of the roadway in front of the pub, where the repair work was all too evident.

 
The seafront mangroves (that's Hinchinbrook in the background)








 

and low tide litter are further current reminders of the devastation, 

 

 

 

as are these remaining stripped tree trunks still standing amidst the partially cleared carcasses of their fellows which is a common sight on the road between Cardwell and Ingham.

 

 

 

 

 

One may ask why it is that the relatively simple task of clearing away the beach debris at low tide has not been undertaken.  We did.  The answer lies in the fact that a whole new beach front development has been designed and is awaiting approval.  If it comes off (and the locals really deserve it) it will transform what is a relatively bland and uninviting seafront area into something quite grand.  If only they could do something about the grossly unappealing mud flats (the sandy beach is only some 20 metres wide) which are exposed at low tide...strangely photos of the waters of this area are never taken at low tide!

 

But enough of Yasi.  What of Cardwell itself?  Firstly, our chosen park.  We took the advice of the Vogts, who had preceded us in Cardwell, and chose the park on the beachfront, which also includes a motel in its complex.  Good choice.  We had a roomy site in a park which had an open feeling, not something commonly found in Queensland.

 

 

 

 

That's us, right in centre shot.  And we did have at least one neighbour who made us feel quite inferior!

 

 

 

 

I mean, how often does one rub shoulders with the owners of a top of the range Giest caravan being towed by a BMW 4x4 and set off with a $60,000 fishing 'smack'.  They were actually a lovely couple who come to Cardwell for six months each year and who leave their boat in local storage for the remainder.  Interestingly they used to use Kurrimine Beach as their base for many years until the owners prior to those currently in charge banned pets.  Some folk are just plain dumb!  Fancy denying a business this type of client.  Fortunately not too many of them run caravan parks.

 

On our other side we found Michelle and Ian with whom our first night happy hour morphed into a delicious Baby Q (Weber BBQ) roasted chicken and veggies dinner. Because of the inherent demands of park hospitality we felt obliged to assist liberally with the liquid side of things, and yes, I was a bit slow the next day (but you had guessed that, hadn't you?)

 

 

But apart from having chickens on hand at the drop of a hat, Ian also had a tinnie.  He, like me, was a novice in this area, but was not backward in seeking local advice. And bless him, he was also short of a crew two days later which found your delighted correspondent rigging rods and acquiring appropriate bait. (as a quick aside, I must note that Ian is not short of quid, and he did have the grace to agree with me that towing a 3.7 metre tinnie behind a thumping Ford F250 did smack of overkill!) 

 

 

So, off we went to launch at Port Hinchinbrook and we were soon scooting some 6 kms down the Hinchinbrook Channel to a spot just off the western shore of the Island, where, on a rapidly falling tide (we decided it would be prudent to move to deeper waters when we felt the tinnie bouncing on the bottom...well we were focused on fishing after all), I managed to capture my maiden grunter and a very nice bream. (I'm still at a loss to know why Liz laughs at my hat...this has been my fishing hat for over twenty years...why would I change now?) 

 

  

 

Whilst these (and the small shovel nosed shark which I large heartedly returned to the water...the truth is we were not sure of the legal size, or state of protection or otherwise of it) did not represent a huge achievement piscatorally speaking, I was genuinely chuffed to have finally landed a grunter and to have had a cracking day on the water.  Ian later reported that they were delicious (we have more fish than we can jump over), barbecued of course!


The Cardwell Esplanade is actually the Bruce Highway, and as you can imagine, is never quiet.  Twenty four hour service stations and cafes invite many to stop, particularly the interstate hauliers.  Groups of five or more semis, often parked side by side in the inordinately wide road shoulder, was not an uncommon sight.  As was that of the  constant fleet of caravans traversing the street in both directions from early morning to mid afternoon.


The shopping area itself is unremarkable, but we loved the imagination of the owner of this little cottage nestled on the main drag.  So Normanton!

Cardwell is an old town.  It was settled in January 1864 to become the port for northern Queensland.  The coastal exploration had been completed many years prior to this.  In fact, in 1819, Captain Phillip King, the commander of HMAS Mermaid, first sighted and named Hinchinbrook Island (after the estate of the Earl of Sandwich...no idea why!) 

Despite this, little remains of the original buildings.  When one considers that that they were of wooden construction, located in an area riddled with termites and hammered by cyclones, this is not entirely surprising.  One exception is the Post Office and Telegraph Station which still sits defiantly on the main street.

Given that this building was erected in 1870, from which time it played a vital role in the communications system of the entire northern part of Queensland and beyond, the fact of its survival is quite remarkable.  Annoyingly (for me) I was never able to get to the bottom of the secret of its longevity.

Cardwell's beachfront is so long  (remember what I said about the sand...what you see here is all of it...once the tide rolls away a muddy flat is exposed) my limitations of both equipment and skill meant that I was unable to capture all of it.  This photo, taken from the end of the short town jetty shows the view south to the point beyond which lies Port Hinchinbrook.  I have not included any photos of that area for the simple reason that one marina development is invariably a clone of all others.  Such is the case with Port Hinchinbrook.

As planned, we used Cardwell as a base from which to explore south to Ingham and east to the coastal areas of Tully Heads, Hull Heads, Lucinda and Taylors Beach.  I noted with interest that my old mate Dalb, who had preceded us through Ingham, wrote that he found the place less than interesting (with the exception of Micks bakery)  We agree.

Ingham, a cane town, attracted a large Italian immigrant population during its development.  Our reading had lead us to believe that this influence could be found all through the town in the form of restaurants, cafes etc, etc.  And although the main street supported a smattering of Italian style restaurants, we were completely unable to discover the gastronomic cornucopia promised in the blurb.







Whilst the Memorial Gardens sited at a junction in the main highway through the town were attractive enough, the main street was, from a tourist's perspective, quite bland.





What we did note, however, was the plethora of clothing stores, all of which displayed kit which Liz assured your less than fashion conscious correspondent was of the highest order.  I chose one of the more colourful as an example.

 


Another point of interest for us was Lees Hotel.  Whilst we have no doubt this establishment provides the locals and other with fine beverages and meals, we were somewhat sceptical of the claims made on signs at the front of the hotel.  One  boasted that this was the 'Original Pub With No Beer' and the second that the establishment was of historical significance. 







This is the third pub we have come across in our recent travels which makes the 'no beer' claim, and as to the historical bit we decided that the Royal Hotel next door was architecturally a much more likely contender.





One indisputable claim which can be made by the good burghers of Ingham is that relating to the nearby Victoria Sugar Mill.  It is indeed the largest in Queensland if not the Southern Hemisphere.  We had previously learnt at Tully that a strange reluctance to expand that mill had been seized upon in Ingham with the enlargement of the Victoria the result.

This shot does not really do justice to the size of the place.  It is huge.  The steam and smoke pouring constantly from its stacks during the cutting season can be seen for miles and miles across the countryside.  As we drove into Ingham on this particular morning the humid atmosphere coupled with the steam from the mill created a distant scene which looked for all the world like the eruption of a volcano.

And on this same day, whilst driving through the cane fields towards the coast, we finally came across a cane harvester we could photograph. 

 

To see one of these odd looking machines sweeping relentlessly through the cane fields grinding the cane through the front rollers and spitting the chopped stalks out from the hooded conveyor top into the bins being towed alongside is a sight indeed.

With the exception of two last shots, I promise to discontinue the discourse about cane growing (notwithstanding the fact that we now know we shall be in cane country for some time yet).  This one, to me really says it all.  The cane railway line crossing the road and then running alongside a newly planted field, the steam of the Victoria Mill at Ingham just visible on the left horizon, cane ready for cutting and the mountain ranges in the background. 

And finally, an empty cane train crossing the main street of Ingham.  This great  mechanical centipede was over 200 bins long!  Had we known, I would have used the time as a coffee break.  

During the course of our stay in Cardwell, true to plan, we ventured north to the coastal villages of Tully Heads and Hull Heads and south to Taylors Beach, Lucinda and Halifax, continuing our quest to discover the ideal small coastal resort in this part of the world for future reference.

Lucinda, the home of the longest sugar loading jetty in the world, (very poorly represented in this shot...you may be able to just make out the actual docking wharf at right angles to the end of the jetty on the horizon)

 
receives high praise from many quarters as a holiday destination.  How we now value our own judgement!  A morbidly crowded, pet-unfriendly caravan park and an average beach front area all overshadowed by the huge sugar warehouses and the jetty, left us cold.  Tully Heads and Hull Heads were a very different proposition with good beaches, a river mouth (Hull Heads) and (Hull Heads again) a very appealing fee campsite right on the edge of the Hull River.

But the stand out for us was Taylors Beach.  A lovely looking park (Max amenable), and a nearby inlet which presented clean, sandy tidal flats (flathead country), crystal clear waters and an indefinable ambiance which immediately appealed to both of us.  A definite for another trip. 

 
All of which all brings us to the end of our sojourn in Cardwell and beyond.  I must apologise for the fact that I have been somewhat tardy in keeping this blog up to date.  Our current base at Conway Beach is wireless Internet unfriendly...in fact we have no signal whatsoever other than at the beachfront, where I have had to make the shelter shed my temporary office. 

Less that satisfactory and particularly frustrating for one who likes to beaver away at the keyboard on arising!

Tales of woe from Home Hill and Bowen to come (don't panic Gwen and Gwen!), and our adventures in Conway Beach, Airlie Beach and beyond in the hopefully not too distant future.