Origins of Paradise

About a million years ago, ocean sands nearby present day New South Wales, Australia were swept northward and grounded against some volcanic rocks just off the coast of Queensland. The ocean's will is slow but relentless, and over time short to us but rapid in geological scope, an Island unique to the world was created -- a sizable island composed almost entirely of sand. In most cases, this would be a poor habitat for any vegetation, but what made this island unique was a constant supply of freshwater. Flowing towards the sea from Queensland, rivers trickle into the subterranean, flow underneath a sea for several kilometers, to finally create natural springs of remarkably clean freshwater on the island. Over time, these springs became lakes, and very slowly an ecosystem was created.

This is, of course, the dry and scientific way of explaining the creation of an island. There is another way.

When the Gods were creating humankind, they realized that they needed some land to live upon, so they sent a pair down to create land from the Earth's seas. These two slaved away endlessly, and after much labouring they desired some rest where they could enjoy what they had created. To this end, they went to present-day Australia. One of the gods, K'Gari, exlaimed that this was the best of their creations, and that she simply couldn't leave, back to the groundless skies above. Her partner advised her against this, but she was adamant. She appealed that she could always see the skies above from this paradise. With some hesitation, her wish was granted, but she would have to transform into an island of sand, with clear pools of water like mirrors to the sky. To this she agreed, and the island was created.

This island, to some, is known as Fraser Island. Debate ensues as to the origin of the name, but the most common tale follows the fate of a ship captain's wife. The ship capsized not far from the island, drowning many, including the ship's captain, Captain Fraser. However, his wife miraculously reached shore. The embellished stories of her struggle to survive on the island, until her rescue, became the gossip of many a Pom back in Mother England, and the island soon became known by her married name.

This island, to others, or to those who aspire to the latter creation story, is known as K'Gari, which translates simply to Paradise. And what a paradise it is...

The Legend of the Mora Mora

Perhaps it is not the most scientifically useful of experiments, but I decided that I wanted to visit Fraser Island/K'Gari in order to have some personal connection to the place of a monster sighting. While traveling up the coast of Queensland, I have discovered many stories that aren't related to the Bunyips of my original intentions, but rather to other creature of the water, particularly large snakes. This monster, however, is something altogether different.

Generally complying with the typical monster story, the legend of Mora Mora begins in something of a colonial way: a strange creature is sighted by a Westerner who then justifies his or her discovery on local knowledge. Often this satisfies the exotic expectation of an idyllic explorer/discoverer hero(ine), even though, hypocritically, it also gives credence to centuries of indigenous knowledge that had previously been regarded as heretic nonsense.

Such is the case here for the island of K'Gari, where in the late 1800's, a schoolteacher named Selina Lovell spotted a strange undiscovered marine creature along the shore. As she explained, it was unpeturbed by the presence of herself and many other onlookers, which allowed them to get a solid look at it. Bearing a long neck which extended from out of a large carapace, half of it resembled some monstrous sea turtle, however the tail was distinctly unusual. From her drawings, it appears to be a huge fish tail, but the children nearby apparently asked her if it was a crocodile, implying a different kind of image.

It is possible that the story is complete hogwash, but perhaps more importantly, when she described this story to the native aboriginals (those who hadn't yet been run off the island in desperation for their lives) that they instantly recognized it and announced that it was a Mora Mora. Regardless, I decided there would be some value in visiting this strange biological and geological microsystem that is Fraser Island, so I decided to take a 3-day tour of the island, especially for the northern areas such as Waddy Point, nearby where Ms. Lovell had spotted (or fabricated) her strange new creature.

3 Days on a Pile of Sand

And so I was off to Fraser, placed randomly with 8 other people in our 4x4 vehicle, the only way to travel on the island. Of course, randomness is more ideal than reality - of the lot were 7 people from Ontario, 1 from Denmark, and me. I suppose it didn't help the diversity considering I've been officially declared an Honourary Canadian. We soon became known as the Canadian group to the others that were also doing these tours.

If this sounds like a busy tourist spot, well it is. Fraser Island has been discovered. There are now 330,000 visitors to the island every year. In peak season, there are often roughly 2,000 per day. And the change has been rapid - these numbers are 60 (!!!) times what they were just thirty years ago. From my vantage point, it's difficult to say how well the island is faring from this high level of tourism, but certainly it is now a different kind of Paradise.

One local author published a book on K'Gari, of which he now regards as a "Paradise Lost." To him this is due much in part to the decisions of the new park management, which took over in 1991. He is particularly sympathetic to the fate of the island's dingoes, Australia's famous wild dogs. Justifying the safety of tourists, the management began a series of measures designed to reduce the island's natural food supply to dingoes on Fraser Island with the hopes of reducing their population. This is particularly unfortunate because this has changed the very nature of all dingoes on the island, forcing many of them to a role of human waste scavengers. In ten years there has been a drastic impact on these dingoes, the most pure-blooded strain in all of Australia. I saw one hovering around the campsite late one evening, trying unsuccessfully to escape the aroused attention of us campers and our parked vehicle's headlights.

Despite the connotation of "wild dog," there is surprisingly little evidence that dingoes are a threat to humans. I need to research this more before I take a side, but it seems that in the vast majority if not all cases, dingoes will flee from any encounter from humans. Perhaps this trait is changing as their natural foods continue to disappear. Correct me if I'm wrong, of course.

Lost paradise as it may be called, Fraser Island is nonetheless a singular experience. Its mixture of eucalypts and figs are just an introduction to what has been a thriving ecosystem, living solely from sand. The roots of trees here must grow deep, to reach a layer of nutrients that has settled far beneath the sand. As the trees die, they turn into peat, which in turn allows smaller trees and shrubbery to develop.

Most visitors will make a stop to Lake Mackenzie, the poster-lake (you'll probably see it several times in photos before ever stepping foot on the island - usually photos that emphasize its remote no-one-has-ever-been-here-before look). It looked remarkably similar to the one in the movie The Beach. It's waters, like most on the island, are slightly acidic, and there are few species of fish or other marine life that can live there. This makes them exceptionally clear and colorful. There is nothing quite like it - an incredibly clear lake with no rocks, no fish, and no weeds, and slopes off extremely quickly just 20 feet from shore. Whatever the reasons, I was a little freaked out by it. Even without any lake-monsters.

I'm not exactly sure why Mackenzie in particular is singled out as a must-see, since there are many lakes with similarly clear waters. Nonetheless, hundreds of swimmers from the world-over flock to its shores on most given days.

Despite this, we found it easy to escape from the masses for some beachside contemplation. Apparently it's mating season for many marine life that visit the island, including tiger sharks, box jellyfish, and stingrays. We even spotted a few of the latter close the shore.

The sunrises were worth getting up for, even for as early as 4:30. From the top of Indian Head, one of the few rock outcroppings on the island, one can spot a fair bit of marine life from its slopes, including sea turtles, sharks, and dolphins. Indeed, from the height that one stands, it can be difficult to tell what you're watching. At times I could only be sure that it was something fiesty. I gazed out with an understanding that these fathoms of water gave life, either to an strange and shy creature, or to colorful imaginations. I suppose either is a gift.

Returning to Mainland

After nights of eating little more than beans 'n hot dogs, spruced up with "Tasty" Cheese of unknown constitution, it was with with some relief that I switched our jeep back into 2 wheel drive again for the world of pavement again. We had spent at least an hour of each day pushing the jeep through the fine sands that were an endless challenge to both tire and foot. I suppose whenever one goes from sand to pavement, the world literally moves along a gear faster.

We returned just in time for the Rugby World Cup Final, between Australia and England. After a month of World Cup insanities, the culmination had everyone out in colors, and I made sure I found the best pub in Hervey Bay from which to join in the ruck(us). Okay, bad pun. But I was psyched and ready to cheer my all for the team with heart, the team named the Wallabies. Aussie Aussie Aussie. Oi Oi Oi.

Cementing my feelings was the fact that the English played a terribly boring style, and depended heavily on the kicking game for all their points. Their kicker, Jonny Wilkinson, is one of the best rugby has ever seen. Hence, you could see me screaming my lungs at his first kick, "Go home, you imperiallist nancy!" ... In Scottish accent, since I can't do Aussie quite well enough yet.

The game lived up to the suspence and more... going into overtime with the teams tied at 14. Alas, despite my support, the Wallabies fell just short in the end, as Jonny kicked the clincher between the posts. I was genuinely crestfallen, and couldn't even stay in the pub a second longer. As I made my way back to the hostel, the English in the pub celebrated with echoing bellows of "Sweet Chariot."

But I was not to be without some comforts. Above my head flew a flock of huge lumbering bats. I've never seen anything quite like these. They move as slow as geese through the sky, and almost seem as big as a geese as well. These are not the kind of bats you want sitting on your shoulder, let's put it that way. Soon, I realized I was in Queensland, and there was much yet to see.

And now, it's time for some rabblerousing. Swimming in the sea of subjectivity, I hereby present to you the Sexiannual Tables of Goodness.