Thanks to the modern vernacular, the word awesome has been slightly diluted in its meaning so now it can describe a reasonably warm afternoon in the middle of winter, a good run from a champion filly, a new single from Beyoncé or if my kids are to be believed, Cristiano Ronaldo’s hair.
But it’s only when you are lucky enough to start approaching the edges of the Daintree Rainforest does the word starts to manifest its true meaning.
Rising from the coast as a giant sheet of green, shadowy navy and black, the forest-clad mountains dominate the skyline, at their peak leaving a jagged line along the blue that looks like a piece of chipped stone lying abruptly against the cobalt. It’s sharp on the horizon, particularly as the day closes and the shapes take on an ominous, serrated darkness.
A thin band of coastline, at times only as wide as the narrow road that takes us into the forest proper, somehow retains the mass of land and keeps it from sliding into the twinkling Coral Sea.
Camped just within the threshold of the forest at Cape Tribulation, it’s not so much the sights or the smells that are notable, but the sounds. This forest still wakes up with a bang, a cacophony of squawks, screams and whistles as the remaining natural residents welcome another sun.
Oh, to have been here before us – to hear the shrieking dissonance of this place when it was teeming with life and truly untouched. But that moment has passed.
Despite the protections, or possibly because of the endless signs warning of the dangers of human contact in the form of litter, fire, scraping coral with flippers and cassowary versus car there is a strong sense of impact of human contact here.
Of course, I am a part of this, along with the family. There’s just no way humans can be somewhere and not have an effect – the only true method of environmental protection is for us to stay the hell out. But that isn’t the human way. All along the coast of Queensland we have been reminded of the sheer determination of those who decided to see what was over that next mountain, and the associated progress and suffering that has resulted.
Adding to this sense is the fact that we had prepared for something a little less, well, convenient. In reading about the Cape online and in brochures, we had been constantly reminded that we were about to go ‘off the grid’, there was no mobile coverage and to be ready.
With a Burke and Wills zeal, we had meticulously planned for the five days we would be in and around Cape Trib, including all meals, water and charging up our little satellite text message gadget so we could alert the authorities of our whereabouts at any stage.
I bought extra beer.
I considered filling the extra diesel jerry cans, which would have given us fuel to drive the length and breadth of the Daintree several times over, and then most of the way back to Brisbane, but decided against.
But overall, we were ready.
However, the idea of this remoteness was somewhat crushed when the boys breathlessly returned to the camp to inform us that they had uncovered a very reasonably priced Paddle Pop at the general store across the road. They were proven correct and the sticky, dripping treat made a lovely accompaniment to the walk along the beach. Wrappers in the bin, of course.
Big Country 