On a bicycle made for two...

Having booked to stay on the beach at Waddy Point, upon arriving we found ourselves instead preferring the camping area above the beach along the top. All be it wooded, the trees were far less in number and height than Central Station camp area and so allowed through the sunlight and a warm sea breeze. The consequences of a brief chat with a ranger who happened to be driving by, resulted in absolute elation for L. This wasn’t simply due the ranger giving us the go ahead to camp at the top area instead, it was because the ranger identified, without hesitation, that L must be from the North of England and more specifically… Yorkshire! The ranger, an Aussie born and bred seemed pretty please with himself for getting this right, but not half as delighted as L, who’s accent up until now had fallen on deaf ears.The ranger followed up with how the mechanic he uses sounds exactly like L and he’s originally from Yorkshire, and that was how he guessed.  Waddy point had a gem up it’s sleev

We landed on Fraser Island’s southern most point and rolled off the barge as the operators  sole customers. Our assumed reason for the absence of others was that we were entering onto the island outside of the advised beach driving window, this window being within two hours either side of a low tide. After much contemplation regarding which of the two routes to take to get us further North and to our first camping spot, we remembered that the lady at the ticket office advised we take the inl and track, rather than risk driving on the beach and getting caught out by the tide. The drive up the beach would have been easier, quicker and was rather appealing because it’d be our first time driving on sand but the inland track, longer and bumpier, guaranteed us no high tide beach stranding. Not wanting to loose the van to the waves on the first day, we took ticket lady’s advice.    The track wasn’t particularly interesting nor challenging, but it was our first exposure to corru

Despite being odd looking, our little home on wheels was drawing in the crowds and clocking up the compliments. It had now become a regular thing, that either one of us, would spend some small part of the day talking to random approachers about the crampervan. The 4x4 aspect seemed to be the main draw and it wasn’t long before we’d started to collect names, numbers and email address on a blank page in a note book, listed under the heading: “Folks interested in buying our van!”. After leaving Mount Tamborine and The Gold Coast, we spent 10 days cruising North. Brisbane, to The Glass House Mountains National Park (see  previous  blog post), then up through the Sunshine Coast and Noosa, further North to Gympie (where it rained 2 days solidly) then beelining it to catch the barge onto Fraser Island where we hoped to escape the rain.  (Photo: Glass House Mountains National Park) (Photo: Glass House Mountains National Park) Although the living quarters mi

  Visiting the glass house mountains and not hiking up a rocky peak, wasn’t really going to be an option. It is around this time of year that I’d ordinarily be in discussions with folks back home about what walks and camping trips would be on the cards for the summer months ahead.  Some quick research the day before informed me that Mount Beerwah is the tallest and trickiest to scale out of the 13 Glass House Mountains. Perfect!! That sounds like the one for me. The leaflet / map from the local tourist information warned of “steep scrambling sections” only to be attempted by the fit an experienced, and although I’ll admit to having put on a few pounds since returning from S.E Asia, I’m still feeling pretty capable. N on the other hand, despite being the rock climber and boulderer out the the pair of us, wasn’t feeling capable and so had flaked out. She’d woken up with a sore wrist, most likely a result of yesterday’s body boarding. (We’d spent most of yesterday on Bribie isl