THE MAGIC OF THE MURRAY FALLS (11 JULY 2016)

At this morning's 'daily briefing', we all agreed that it was high time for a day out and a good, challenging hike. We eagerly seized on the suggestion that the Murray Falls would fit the bill. So with the picnic lunch packed, we were off out of Wongaling and south along The Bruce.

Situated in the Girraway National Park through which the Murray River runs, the Murray falls, officially classified as a 'cascade falls' (now that was something I had not know before!) lie about 40 kms south-west of Tully. The entry road into the park is mostly bitumen, with only a last few kilometres being reasonably well maintained gravel. 

What I hadn't realised on departure is that the track to the falls begins in a beautiful camp ground. This was relatively sparsely populated on the day our our visit, but apparently during school and public holidays and at weekends, this can become crawling room only. I was more than pleased with our choice of visiting day!

We  did stop for a brief chat to a lovely WA couple who had set up quite close to the entrance to the trail. With their portable solar panels well positioned to capture every bit of the benefit of the rays from our solar orb, it was clear that they were seasoned 'off-roaders'. No doubt about it....this was their third visit to this charming camp ground. It is places such as this which have prompted us to seriously consider an off-road capable van when we downsize from our current mobile palace.

Enough chatter....it's time to do some work. We do love tropical rain forests, and initially the trail which was to take us to the falls through this particular tangle of varied vegetation was more than user friendly. 

Consistent with what we have found in most QLD National parks, our passage along this forest track was one on which we were kept well informed. The pleasure these interpretive plaques add to such a ramble by providing explanations of what we are seeing is something we value highly.

Within no time we were wandering along through very dense forest indeed, where the various species of trees are engaged in a constant competition for the light. There is only one way to go in this struggle for survival....straight up and as quickly and far as possible.

Of course, this race to present a green leafy upper storey to the life giving sunlight atop thin straight trunks does demand a survival mechanism.....a very strong and well spread anchoring system. 

As we have seen before in places such as this, you can't top Mother Nature.

As we continued our ascent, small bridges took us across a series of rivulets which were coursing their way down the hills.

By now life on this trail was becoming a little more challenging. A series of steps, both stone

and wooden, took us higher and higher (which after all is what one would expect if going to the top of a waterfall!)

The comparatively refined pathways of the lower sections of the trail had disappeared.

The erstwhile comfortable stroll had now become a genuine uphill scramble

over some pretty confronting sections

before we were again back on a relatively user friendly section of the trail.

To my surprise, the track soon took a downward turn

and from this point the views across the river valley were our reward for our efforts thus far.

A steel mesh stairway ushered us down

to the viewing platform below at the head of the falls.

This really is a very pretty spot. It was not difficult to understand why these falls are classified as 'cascade'. Here the river sluices down over the smooth face of the granite rock 

to empty into the small, clear, blue rock pool below before moving on to fill the river gully beyond. This is far from what I would describe as a spectacular waterfall, but the utter charm and picturesque serenity of this vista had made the trek well worth the effort.

On days such as this the return tramp is always something of an anti-climax, but on this occasion I did spot something on the descent which had escaped my roving eye on the way up. There is nothing like the environment of a rain forest to encourage the growth of fungi.

Here we found a great example. These impossibly delicate, marvellously coloured, scalloped shaped examples were sprouting out of this fallen trunk by the side of the trail.

And they were not alone. Fungus spotting is, for us, always a real highlight of any rain forest ramble.

There is no doubt that a goodly hour and a half of exercise has one inevitable outcome. It was time for lunch. Our chosen venue was the lower picnic ground where rustic tables and benches await those about to dine.

Here a short rock pathway leads down 

to the gurgling, clear (and chilly!) waters of the river

in the designated bathing area. Ah, the hardiness of youth!

A plunge in the mountain brook was not on our agenda, but lunch certainly was. With the truck under the shade of the tall eucalypts and us under the shade of the shelter shed, the hamper opened and the luncheon goodies spread, we were happy to agree this had been a day to remember.

This was about to change. Not immediately, but very soon. To date the weather here in FNQ had been what we have come to expect over the past four years. Not this year!

BACK TO THE OLD WINTER STAMPING GROUNDS - ALMOST - WE WANDER INTO WONGALING (6 -12 JULY 2016)

We have know Cate and David from the time they rented the house opposite ours in South Brighton over ten years ago. We stayed with them in Darwin after they had moved up there and had the pleasure of their company again at the opposite end of the country, when they joined us (in their camper trailer) at Bremer Bay on the south coast of WA for a few days in March last year.

Since then they have left Darwin and moved to Wongaling, a wonderful beach location between Mission Beach and South Mission. We had been invited to a stopover at their new home en route to Kurrimine Beach, which is a mere 30 kms or so north. We jumped at the chance.

So as the day dawned clear we hitched for what was tantamount to the last leg of our northern migration for this year.

Now I think it fair and appropriate to comment at this stage that after the festivities of the past afternoon and evening, we were both just a little jaded on this bright and sunny morn, and despite the fact that there was very little to do in the pack up, for some reason Max's instincts kicked in.....he decided that a position high on the table and well out of the way was the safest place to be as we prepared to depart. Clumsy humans were stomping around in a confined space. This is not good news for a cat! 

So, after very fond farewells and promises to meet at the Test cricket and beyond later in the year, we took our leave of Chris and Julie as set sail out of Townsville towards Ingham.

Again, this is a route well travelled, described and photographed, so I have taken the editorial red pen to any temptation to repeat photos and descriptions (other than a couple for reference).

We did stop briefly in Ingham to make a few purchases at the renowned Julies Pasta shop before pushing on to the next main town, Cardwell. Here, as we drove along the the town esplanade (which is in fact the Bruce Highway) we could see that the foreshore redevelopment which repaired the results of the ravages of Cyclone Yasi had been completed. The powers that be have done a wonderful job, and from all we saw and heard, the town has come back to life.

And here we are.....forty kilometres further on and the belching smoke stacks of the Tully Mill appeared in our windscreen like a welcome home flag. 

Normally we would have another twenty kilometres or so of the Bruce ahead of us before we turned off onto Murdering Point Road to Kurrimine Beach, but today we were beckoned off the highway a mere two clicks north of Tully.

There are two roads which run east off the Bruce Highway into the Mission Beach area. This is the southerly option, and as this sign indicates, there is a bit to come to grips with at what is known generally as 'Mission Beach' (and I have to confess it has confused me for years....until now!)

But with my newly found friend Google Earth, I can put this little mystery to bed for good, for you dear readers at least, and hopefully give you some feel for the general layout of this area that we have come to like so much.

Here is the aerial of our little winter world. Normally, as I mentioned, we would proceed north along The Bruce to Murdering Point Road and make our way into Kurrimine Beach (top of the shot), but on this occasion we left the highway just north of Tully and made our way through Carmoo into Wongaling Beach on the inventively named 'Tully-Mission Beach Road'.

And now a small digression from the travel tale.....a spot of local colour if you will. Because it is so small, Kurrimine Beach does not host a supermarket of any size. Bread, milk, baked beans, some veggies, limited hardware, bait and tackle etc etc, are available from the local service station and the newly developed cafe, but for a decent shop we have three options, all roughly the same distance away (about 20-30 kms). The towns of Tully to the south, and Innisfail to the north, both provide a good range of shopping options. In fact there has never been an instance when we could not find what we have been looking for at one or the other. Obviously we reach either of these along The Bruce.

Our third option is the Mission Beach shopping centre, actually located at Wongaling Beach, where we have a large Woollies, good bottle shop, chemist, bakery, medical centre, a pub and a few other odds and ends, including a fine Italian restaurant about which I'll have more to say later. This we reach by taking the northern road into the Mission Beach area, where we can either go direct or turn off and detour through the delightfully picturesque Bingle Bay area (this road doesn't show in the photo).

And finally, on the subject of foodstuffs and their sources, (now I'm sure there is a pun there, I can just feel it!) whilst I have heard good reports about the offerings from butchers in both Tully and Mission Beach, it is Blenners at El Arish for me. They grow their own Angus beef and have never let me down.

So there you have it. The fact that we can't just 'pop down to the supermarket' does mean our culinary demands require a modicum of forward planning, and to suddenly find that I am out of mint jelly just as I am taking the roast lamb out of the Weber can foment a crisis, but these are small prices to pay for the other benefits we enjoy here.

But back to the subject at hand after that short domestic detour. 


This part of FNQ is know as the 'Cassowary Coast' and for good reason. The road into Wongaling, like its northern counterpart, traverses the dense rain forest which cloaks the hills and gullies of this area. This provides ideal habitat for these impressive, and sometime quite dangerous, large birds. Along the length of both these routes, warning signs abound.








If you miss the first, there is always another. Bird strike is not uncommon. 









Cassowaries are not born with an instinctive understanding of the fact that a clash with a moving vehicle is well beyond even their ferocious and highly effective self defence capabilities. But this notwithstanding, they have an unnerving tendency to wander out of the dense forest onto the roadways at will, oft with fatal disregard for the moving metal mass attempting to occupy the same patch of bitumen. 


In an effort to reduce these bloody contretemps to a minimum, a speed limit applies through all these areas, which I have to say is generally obeyed, probably not least because to travel any faster is to court one's own highway demise on the many sharp bends (this is clearly not one of those stretches!)


We have never, in the many, many trips we have taken through this area, had any close encounters with a cassowary, either visually or otherwise, and today's was no exception. As we prepared to turn right at the large roundabout which signals the arrival at the Wongaling shopping area, the progress of the Mobile Marshies to their Wongaling destination had left the our local feathered friends unscathed.


Cate and David's charming home is located a mere 200 metres from the excellent sands of the Wongaling beach. It had initially been planned that we would take up residence in the back yard, but a delayed swimming pool project and heavy rain meant that this was now a muddy expanse rather than a welcoming area of grass. The wide verge alongside the house was a far more practical option, and given that this is very short street and not much used, this presented an ideal alternative. 


As it turned out, this was a far more satisfactory site than the back yard. The large palms in the side garden provided excellent afternoon shade which we would not have enjoyed in the back yard, and we had no problem connecting both power and water. 






This shot, taken from the Esplanade roadway, shows just how close to the beach we were. 

 




Let me reinforce that by including this photo, taken from the back deck, where in mid shot you can see the blue waters of Wongaling and the rising bulk of Dunk Island beyond.











As if to add to the local amenity, the short street on which we were now domicile ended at a very convenient beach access point.









Liz and I both share the view that the beaches of the 'Mission' area are the best in FNQ, with their only rival being that at Port Douglas. Lush, low, creeping vegetation






provides a welcoming green carpet between the Esplanade and the firm flat sands of the beach where, even at the lowest of tides, there is not a skerrick of mud to be seen. With its backdrop of Dunk, Bedarra and other islands, Wongaling Beach really is what the tourist promoters would have us all believe is to be found along the entire length of the FNQ coast. Here it actually exists.


And before we leave the subject of this beautiful beach and the fine sunny weather (which didn't last much beyond our week here) we did make use of it for more than long walks. Cate was keen to try her hand on my kayak with a view to a possible future acquisition of a craft of her own. Try before you buy has always appealed to me.....I was more than happy to accommodate her.

So off we trotted down the street to the ever widening expanses of sand on a falling tide.












After some brief preliminaries about the most effective way to use the paddle (a high forearm thrust is essential)












and an initial steadying hand whilst she became accustomed to the limits of the lateral tilt of the boat (that's Dunk Island in the background),












Cate of was off. She is a natural. 











It had been many months since your scribe had chanced his arm on the water (for a plethora of reasons). Now was the time to remedy all that.






What an ideal place this is for a paddle. And what a lesson in just how unfit I had become as far as this sort of activity was concerned I soon learned. Initial enthusiasm for speed quickly gave way to a more practical approach. I remain more than disappointed that, for a number of reasons, including rapidly deteriorating weather, this sortie onto the Wongaling briny was the one and only. But is was just so good to be back on the water, albeit briefly.   



Our week at Wongaling became a fiesta of fine food (David is a master in the kitchen), some serious socialising and a concerted attack on our combined wine cellars, interspersed with a day trip or two to keep things in some sort of balance. 


Normally when we stay with friends we insist that we share the cooking duties. After all this is only fair. Fat chance here! David's kitchen is David's...in it he is the master of all he surveys. My offer to share the culinary workload was rapidly and roundly rebuffed. I know when to retire gracefully and did so. "Well, David, at least let me pour you a drink." "Though you'd never offer!"









We did dine royally. Each evening saw a marvellous meal materialise from the Wibrow kitchen. Tonight a robust risotto,










another, a fine fish pie (who's a very happy camper then?)











The menu was ever varied and the plated fare consistently excellent. Even lunch became an event, such as when the decision was taken to picnic in the front garden. And why not?











Green lawn, leafy shrubs, blue skies and warm, warm, warm.
















A bit silly I suppose, but why not?





Happy hour on the back deck was de rigeur. Here we, the about to be feted three, would cheer David on as he toiled in the galley, but we were clever enough to ensure that his labours did not induce a thirst which remained unquenched for long.





His piece de resistance was the Sunday roast, a real British traditional meal. I was more than delighted that, despite their trans location to the Antipodes, Cate and David have remained firm in their resolve to retain this little bit of home. The leg of lamb was cooked to perfection.













Roast spuds, carrots, parsnip, peas and onions, and, and.....genuine Yorkshire pudding, with a golden, crisp casing surrounding a soft and seductive centre...add the gravy and a good dollop of mint jelly. No more needs to be said, apart from very well done chef, oh, and 'salute'!


Then came the real kitchen surprise, and another real learning experience for me. "Marshie, have you ever made sausages?" "Can't say that I have old mate". I was about to learn.

These were to be English Cumberland snags, a pork based sausage made to a traditional recipe. First step (after we had made the trip to Tully to acquire the necessary skins)...trim the meat (three different cuts of pork), chop coarsely, add the herbs and spices (a tightly held secret), mix all together and set aside










whilst the impossibly thin looking skin is soaked and prepared. 















So far so good, but now comes the really tricky bit, filling the skins. The metre long length of outer covering is loaded onto the nozzle of the filling implement,










the barrel is loaded with the chopped meat and with deft turns of the handle the skin begins to fill. At this point I will happily confess to a highly elevated heart rate and a sense of responsibility which bordered on panic. 










Achieving a consistent thickness by maintaining a steady and even pressure on the emerging sausage snake is not as easy as it sounds, as I soon discovered.







But with persistence and the odd shouted command of encouragement (oxymoron?) we at last had an end product to be proud of. Once this was twisted into individual snags we had achieved our goal. But how did they taste....absolutely delicious!  What a hoot this had all been, and decidedly different.



Despite David's undoubted and clearly demonstrated dedication to the culinary arts and his unfailingly generous penchant to fatten his house guests, we did venture out for a meal on one occasion, at our insistence. It was out shout. 



The most excellent Cafe Rustica, a Wongaling Italian Restaurant which confines its offerings to pizza and pasta only, was the recommendation proffered by our hosts. And it was within walking distance....no squabbles over the designated driver for the evening and a fine excuse to over indulge on the basis of the rationale that 'we'll walk it off going home'!

What a wonderful choice this was. With the outside shutters all open to the cool tropical breezes wafting in off the Coral Sea, soft lighting highlighting the vivid colours of the outdoor plants, and the air alive with the chirps and cheeps of the local insect choir, the scene was set for a fine evening. But it had cooled down...this is indeed a rare photograph.....your humble scribe with legs encased in denim!


This place is a survivor in a normally cut throat industry. There is a good reason for that. A charming rustic venue, fine food, a sensible wine list with modest mark-ups, and prompt, competent service all made for a most memorable evening. 

These have been but a few snippets of our bacchanalia chez Cate and David. But I would not want you all to think that our entire Wongaling visit was one focused solely on the self indulgent practices of the trencherman. We did manage a few day trips, one of which was to the Murray Falls. I'll share the delights of this tropical waterway with you in my next.