Maggy

TOWNSVILLE, QUEENSLAND - 13th January 2010

As Ronan Keating so rightly said, "life is a roller coaster - you've just gotta ride it". It's not just ups and downs either - just like a roller coaster, when things start going downhill, they tend to accelerate. So, fresh on the back of having my camera nicked (the day I got back from the Whitsunday Cruise), I managed to spectacularly shoot myself in the foot in an attempt to be forward planning.

With 48 hours left in Australia, I'd planned to shoot up to tropical Townsville (at about 19.5°S, it's well inside the the Tropic of Capricorn and sits approximately as far from the Equator as Goa), not so much for the city as its illustrious and acclaimed neighbour - Magnetic Island. Named as such by Captain Cook on his 1770 Discovery expedition (and affectionately nicknamed "Maggy" by locals), the story went that the island possessed some strange force that sent Cook's compass off the kilt. Subsequent evidence that no such force exists suggests that the only thing off the kilt was Cook after a couple of pegs too many*.

He's not alone. For some unknown reason, I'd managed to convince myself that my 9.30am bus from Airlie Beach arrived in Townsville at 10.30 that night. Based on this assumption, and just minutes before leaving Airlie, I booked myself into an LPG-recommended joint next to the bus station to minimise hassle upon arriving that night, with the plan being to hit Magnetic Island for the day in the morning.

Whether it was the succession of 12 hour journeys up the coast that made me think the journey would be that long, or whether it was just plain stupidity (certainly the more likely), the crux of the story was that it actually took just 4 hours, arriving at 1.30pm.

This should have been good news, as it allowed me to head straight over to Maggy, relax for the afternoon, crash there overnight and spend the following day on the island before my late afternoon flight to Sydney. If only it were so simple. Because of my supposed late arrival, I had had to do a pre-arrival check for Globetrotters (the Townsville hostel) that meant my card had already been charged... and it was non-refundable.

Unimpressed, I wandered from the bus station a couple of blocks down the road to where my hostel was...and came face-to-face with a fenced off site with no semblance of a building left on it. A phone call confirmed what I was dreading - the bloody place had moved site and my LPG, published in 2004, had the old address. And the new address was anything but close to the bus station.

Long walk in savage tropical heat with massive backpack. Check in. Dump stuff on bed. Change t-shirt. Fill backpack with LPG and book to read on beach. Walk to Magnetic Island ferry terminal.

One final kick in the teeth, it transpired that ferries were return tickets valid for one month. Meaning that by not staying overnight on the island, I was going to get financially screwed if I wanted to come back again on the second day. Not happy.

The island itself is incredible, not so much for the fact that it is a jungle flanked with pristine beaches (regular readers would have gathered that Queensland essentially consists of thousands of miles of the above), but the fact that despite its formidable reputation as a tourist hotspot, the island is just oh so quiet. There is one road through it, linking the ferry terminal at Nelly Bay with the expansive Horseshoe Bay to the north, and the smaller Picnic Bay to the south (see right). Accessible only by foot are the other 20+ bays of various shapes and sizes scattered in every direction.

Arriving on Maggy at 4.30, I hopped on the shuttle bus to Horseshoe and took on a couple of recommended walking trails - the first to an inland creek that is supposedly full of birds, although apparently they all vanish on the second Tuesday in January in every 21st century year ending in '10. The second, as the sun set to the west, involved some serious physical work - a steep climb up a hundred or more rocky steps, over the top of the hill, and down a steeper, rockier descent the other side among hundreds, or even thousands of huge granite boulders. Eventually you reach the shore of Balding Bay; in my case you mistakenly take a ridiculously treacherous and quite possibly illegal off-track route and freestyle your way down the rocks after losing your way; and enjoy the sobering tranquility of having an entire beach, and indeed entire bay cove, all to one's self.

Long walk back to Horseshoe, and sitting alone by the bus stop listening to my iPod. If I were to describe it in one word? Passive.

Then, the rollercoaster turns. As down the beach walk two guys, one young, one middle age, the latter calls out "oi mate - come fishing with us!". Polite refusal, something about having a bus to catch, and "just get the next bus! You haven't got anything better to do!"

Two hours later, beers and wines were going down a treat with fresh chips, and Paddy, Pete and I had caught a tiger shark, some little fish, and had two lines snapped by big mamma barras too strong for the weak line. I'd sacked off the last bus, and was soon going so sack off the last ferry thanks to the offer of sleeping at Paddy/Pete's place. BASE bar was frequented, a few more drinks were had, and back at Pete's a controversial concoction of bacon, onions, tomato sauce and a large dose of curry powder was guzzled. Great evening.

Morning was early. 7.30am early. I called Globetrotters to let them know I wouldn't make check out time - and with the rollercoaster very much moving my way by now, the lady told me not to worry, just swing by later and pick up my stuff, and thanks for ringing!

Thoroughly pleased about the way things were working out, my Australian adventures had one final, and quite literal, high to come - Paddy, 20, born and raised on the island, took me back over to Balding Bay, but this time we climbed our way over the rocks that bend around the left edge of the bay forming the beginnings of a lagoon. At the apex stands one huge mass of granite - towering 10 metres above the ripply blue waters below, its front face flat and shear (see arrow, right). You'd be mad as a hatter to do it on your own accord - especially as a tourist - but fate's cards in the form of local hospitality were destined to provide the biggest adrenaline rush I've had since sky diving in 2007. Like a roller coaster, what goes up must come down... so it was 1, 2, 3, JARANIMO!!!...

(...*splash*)


* Strictly unofficial speculation