Agnes Waters (1770) & the Whitsundays: 24th-30th May

After a 10 hour daytime bus journey, we rolled into Agnes Waters (aka Town of 1770, which is actually 5km down the road) and piled into our hostel, which instantly trebled in size under the weight of our bags. The hostel was called Cool Bananas, and had been recommended to us by Hugo, one of the guys we had met in Surfer's Paradise. It certainly had a very relaxed ambience, accentuated by the hammocks hanging from the pillars of the balcony, and with evening meals served for less than ₤2.50, what more could you ask for?!

Friday morning we treated ourselves to a long-awaited lie-in, before heading down to the beach for a bit more relaxation and sun-basking. Being a traveler can be really tough sometimes. Later that afternoon, we took an opportunity that neither of us could resist, and became Hell’s Angels for the afternoon.

As we clambered aboard our chosen vehicles, we were both a little more than apprehensive, the only two-wheeled vehicles we had ever driven before being ye olde bicycles, and the idea that we had to not only stay upright but control an engine and simultaneously not kill anyone was a little daunting. Fortunately for everyone else, we were not driving Harley Davidsons (maybe next time!) but mini Choppers, which were easy peasy to ride and soooooo much fun! So after a brief lesson, and once we’d mastered the art, we spent the next 3 hours testing the accelerator, as about 30 of us took to the roads, convoy styleee. Sadly the speedometer on Jess’ was dead as a dodo, but Armelle reckons we reached a top cruising speed of, ooh, 45mph. We paused briefly to view kangaroos (which for some reason were much bigger than any of the others we had seen, hmmmm, maybe something in the grass…); and again for photographs and a shout of ‘Scooteroo’, which was to be the word of the afternoon.

The final stop brought the day to a perfect close. We reached a pub, where we ate potato wedges as the sun set over the water in the pretty town of 1770. Ok so the potato wedges don’t exactly add to the romanticism, but they were fine wedges and certainly added to the moment.

We flew back in the dark with the wind in our hair and thrills in our tummies, after a short but to the point warning from our ‘instructor’ about a ‘gravelly patch by the junction which everyone had been coming off at recently’. Forewarned is forearmed as they say, and we tucked ourselves up in bed that evening unscathed and reeling from the thrill of that 45mph. The next day we arose at what felt like sunrise for a spot of yoga on the beach. Jess got half way there and discovered that she needed a towel (d’oh), so decided to opt out, and head back down later with towel for another 40 winks on the beach instead. As it turned out, however, the gods were against us, and the heavens opened. We both got drenched, and Armelle made her way back to the hostel while Jess decided to wait it out (little did she know). The day continued much in this manner, with Armelle passing the rainy day in the hostel feasting her eyes on film after film, while Jess, taunted by 5 minutes of golden sunshine every 30 minutes, spent a few hours running between the beach, the shelter, the shops and the hostel. It was one of those irritating afternoons when whatever you do seems like a waste of time. Eventually giving up, she took a bus to the Town of 1770 (as I said, 5km from the hostel in Agnes Waters), as the annual festival/fete was going on, to celebrate the first recorded landing place in Queensland of Captain Cook in 1770. There was quite an atmosphere, with lots of children’s entertainment, live music and stalls. Jess succumbed to a stand selling homemade honey (her weakness), and ‘invested’ in some of the mangrove variety, justified by Armelle’s love of mangroves and the idea that you certainly wouldn’t get that at home (well, not until after a few years of global warming, anyway). After she had had her fill of beach-side festivities, Jess’ frustrating day was back to haunt her as she waited what seemed like forever for a bus which was apparently lost, as nobody knew where it was, until one of the other bus drivers altered his route. Arriving back at the hostel, she was amused to find Armelle exactly where she had left her.

That evening was 'overnight greyhound' time once more, this time for Airlie Beach, ‘Gateway to the Whitsunday Islands’. The Sunday was spent, after a little nap, doing admin (see, I said it was tough traveling), sorting out our Whitsunday sailing trip, and eating at the Fish Divine, where Armelle had delicious fish and chips, and where Jess discovered she likes Spanish Cod (apparently no relative of normal Cod). Especially when it’s with Caesar salad and in a Tandoori dressing (there was no chicken left and you could only taste the dressing.) Anyway, it was very nice whatever it was.

The next morning we were up bright and early once more, and ready for our sea-faring voyage, aboard Ragamuffin II, named by a well-known boat designer who’d been considered useless at school. Day one was spent meeting our fellow sailors, a guy from Lichtenstein, who was delighted when Jess told him that she’d been there, a German guy, 3 French, an Irish guy, and 4 Bristolians who made Jess feel very at home despite their constant bickering. This started off by being very amusing, until you got to the point where you couldn’t have a normal conversation with one of them without his mate correcting him and civil war ensuing. We think they may have been traveling together a tad too long. Our helm was called Ian, aka ‘Splash’ (crrringe!), and his first mate (crew) Nick. The first leg, through Hook Passage, was a blustery affair, with Jess sitting as high up on the windward side of the boat as she could, and nervously watching the opposite leeward edge of the boat (gunwhale) as it was permanently submerged. Armelle took a few of the old sea sickness tablets (resorting to drugs was the only option) and hoped it wouldn’t be like that for the each of the 3 days, which it wasn't. We stopped for lunch in the shelter (lee) of Dumbbell Island, so-called because of its shape, where we feasted on fresh salad (which you had to eat quickly on deck because of the wind) and other wholesome food. After lunch (who was worried about cramp when you have jellyfish and sharks to worry about! Even if reef sharks are ‘completely harmless’) we donned our sexy stinger suits. These are full body suits which look like they’re made from something between lycra and tights! they stop you from being stung by the nasties which can be as small as the tip of your little finger. After a brief introduction from Nick, we grabbed our snorkels and took the plunge. Armelle was totally in her element pottering around the pretty corals and swimming through the shoals of sparkling fish. Jess took a little longer to get used to it, but was happy admiring the sub-marine world even if she did feel a little like a fish out of water. That evening we anchored at Tongue Bay, where we spotted huge turtles surfacing for air, and Jess had a lesson in tying ‘rolling hitches’ and anchor chain ratios. The evening came in faster than we had expected, and the French girl, who was our only other female companion, spent her time trying in vain to convince her friends to stay on deck and ‘discuter’ with us. That night we were in for a turbulent one, I think Jess was the only one who got a decent night, though whether that was because everyone else was being kept awake by one of the guys snoring (it sounded a bit like a cross between a train and an earthquake) or because of the sensation that you were not in fact on a boat, but actually on a swing, I’m not sure. Anyway, the roles were reversed the next night, when we had near calm water, and Jess didn’t sleep a wink. The next morning we were ferried by ‘Tender’ (dinghy) to the shore, where we made the ‘ascent’ (all of a couple of hundred metres, if that) up to the lookout, for spectacular views of Whitehaven Bay, where the sand is so white and fine, and has such a high silica content that it was used in the construction of the lenses of the Hubble Telescope.

We whiled away a happy morning on the beach trying to keep our cameras from death by the aforementioned sand, and watching the Bristolians squabbling over the football. Coming back to the boat, we were greeted (much to the delight of our empty tummies) with another A-Class lunch, before motoring over to Cateran Bay, off Border Island for some more snorkeling. We were told to make the most of this opportunity, and Jess was slightly concerned that Armelle may take this to extremes and just plain not come back. I don’t know, turn into a mermaid or something. After becoming fairly wrinkled, we set sail this time for South Molle Island, where Jess took the helm for a while, much to her delight and everyone else’s concern!

We arrived with no mishaps, however, and settled in for a delicious steak barbeque.

The next morning we were deposited on the Island, where we hiked up Mt Jeffreys (this time it truly was a hike, we 'walked' at the boys’ pace, and they seemed to think they were trying to attain the escape velocity or something so that they could fly into orbit…). Anyway, at the top we took plenty of photographs, as the views were incredible-a true 360 degree panorama of the Whitsundays. Stunning! On the way down we came across a small snake in the bushes next to the path, brown with a yellow belly. We had been warned before to watch out for the black ones, but that the brown ones were even worse. Jess thought it wise, however, (after the small fiasco in which we got sort of lost in the bushland outside of Brisbane) not to tell Armelle until we were safely past it. Since it didn’t seem too bothered by us, Jess managed to keep her trap shut until afterwards, though it made her heart beat a bit! Discovering that it was not on the ‘venomous snakes’ poster back in the hostel in Airlie Beach was a bit of a let down though, but still, we saw a snake in Australia and we didn’t know that it didn't want us for lunch at the time! The Island of South Molle on which we were spending the morning was actually a privately owned resort, so, having paid our ₤2.50, we made the most of the swimming pool and showers, which were very plush even if we hadn’t been roughing it for the past few days. That afternoon we sailed back to Abel Point Marina. We were both distraught to be invited out for drinks with everyone else that evening, as we had to reply that we would instead be spending yet another night on the greyhound. We consoled ourselves with an icecream at the Cold Rocks icecream parlour, where they mash up any number of things and add it to your icecream. Jess had jelly babies and chocolate Freddo in her butterscotch icecream. Yum! We did not have time to recover our land legs sufficiently before staggering aboard the greyhound, and consequently toppled into Cairns the next morning at half past six. But that’s another story for another day.