Great Barrier Reef

Great Barrier Reef  

I never imagined I’d snorkel on the Great Barrier Reef.  First, it’s way out at sea, and I’m afraid of drowning.  It’s not that I’m not a good swimmer.  I am.  I have taught swimming, been a lifeguard for a summer, and grew up with one of those Southern California kidney-shaped pools in the back yard.  I love the feeling of little gravity and the silky skimming through the water.  I relax doing lazy laps.  I’m an aging water baby.  But in the deep dark bowels of the night, I have a huge fear of drowning.  So, enjoying the trunk-full of concentration it takes to snorkel just wasn’t even on my list of lifetime must-do’s.

Second, you have to go in the ocean to snorkel at the Great Barrier Reef.  Other creatures are in there with you.  Sharks and things.  Eels and things.  Whales and things.  Jellyfish who sting and things.  OK, I’m a bit scared to swim in the sea since I got caught in a rip tide when I was in my teens on the California coast.  

But, my daughter suggested an all-family trip up beyond Cairns, the first all-family trip we’d had in 15 years, and I got swept up in the adventure.  “Sure!”  I said, forgetting that I was packing around a few dozen fears accumulated over a lifetime.  

Friends recommended Pt. Douglas over Cairns as a walk-able, family-oriented town.  Renting a house in town in season was pricy (see house on Davidson St. at left) but having the space and a little lap pool gave us room to read and splash and travel well with a happy eight-year-old.  Believe me, when the eight-year-old was happy, we were all happy.  

We booked our snorkeling trip in a smaller boat that held 30 people.  We stepped out of our sandals on shore and on board were immediately fitted for fins, short wet-suits, masks and snorkels.  It was a slightly windy day and I was grateful for the motion-sickness pills we’d acquired the night before at the chemist from a wide array them on the shelf.  The excursion company had some pills on board too, along with breakfast and tea and later an interesting, but largely-untouched lunch.  Some snorklers who had not taken advantage of the pills made full use of the bright plastic buckets piled at the end of the benches, with long ropes attached for sluicing out at sea.

We made our way slowly out of the harbor and into the open channel, passing tiny coral islands and the Pt. Douglas lighthouse. We turned out into the reef that extends from Brisbane up to Papua New Guinea with the wind at our flank and cruised thirty-five kilometers or so out into the Coral Sea. Australia protects the Great Barrier Reef as a National Marine Park, but the reef and its creatures lose their protection beyond Australian waters.

The twin engines strained against the wind and the hull slapped the wave tops.  An hour and a half later, the exhaust-breeze stilled, and we moored at a buoy leased by the tour company from the Park authorities.  The experienced snorkelers jammed on fins, snorkels and masks and hopped off the boat like penguins leaping off the jagged shoreline to feed after months of privation.  Others of us less experienced edged off the dive platform gingerly, spitting and blowing and trying to coordinate several unfamiliar new actions all at one time.  Flutter, don’t frog kick with fins on.  Mouth breathe and ignore the warm water trapped in the mask. And the hardest — relax.  Flutter, relax, breathe, blow.  And, as my husband learned, not once but several times, don’t say “Wow!” with a snorkel in your mouth.  

And “Wow!” was all I could think – so much to see, so many coral forms, so many colors, so much to concentrate on, such an intense experience.  And that’s without really looking at the incredible number of fish in constant motion.  

The bright blue stag coral stood out, but the rest of the coral was more muted – mauve, tan, claret, citrine, olive – colors taken from the organisms that lived in each coral form.  Some forms were rounded and soft, some looked like antlers, some like plates on a stalk, and others looked like flowers opened to the sun.   The fish, on the other hand, were brighter, more saturated colors but mottled and striped for protection – yellow with blue dots, green and magenta in a coral pattern, orange and black stripes – and fan-shaped, and butterflies and knob-headed and parrot beaked. (photo credit:  Wavelength Reef Charters.  See url below.)

I just couldn’t absorb everything I saw and our little disposable underwater camera couldn’t capture the wonder.  We over-use words and over-hype things we experience, but in this case, the wonder was silencing, humbling, awe-inspiring.  I felt puny and at the same time responsible in a new way for my own choices in co-existence.   We snorkeled at two more sites, swimming away from the boat and letting the wind and waves carry us back as we tired.  Breathe, flutter, spit, gasp, relax. Relax was especially elusive.  Watch carefully in those few precious seconds when all came together in awesome synergy.  Diminish the fear bit by bit.  Absorb everything all at once.

We were thankful the tour company sold a CD of pictures snapped during our trip along with fifty or so of their top photos of sea life taken over the years.  Yes, there are pictures of us in our short wet suits.  No, you will never see them.  Friends don’t let friends see pictures like that.

Note:  Except for the photo of the Great Barrier Reef, the photos in Great Barrier Reef blog were taken by C.E. Wilkins.  Thank you.

For your trip to Pt. Douglas, here are

• Contacts we used:   renting a house:  Ray White Reality (www.propertyportdouglas.com.au) snorkling trip to the Great Barrier Reef: Wavelength Reef Charters (www.wavelength.com.au) 

• Art we loved:  Cara Stevens collages: www.carastevens.com.au

• Travel Tips: 

• Take a light rain jacket/wind-breaker. (They are difficult to find in Pt. Douglas, given its tropical nature, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t get stormy and chilly.) 

• Rent a place with a kitchen.  Restaurants are pricy, booked, and underwhelming. 

• Take umbrellas.  You may be out and about when a tropical shower jams through. 

• Book restaurant tables ahead — way ahead — especially for a weekend.

• Rent a car in Cairns so you can see the magnificant Daintree River (www.electricboatcuirses.com) Photo on the right:  note the saltie – saltwater crocodile- on the banks of the Daintree at right.

• and walk the rainforest trail at Mossman Gorge (http://www.epa.qld.gov.au/projects/park/index.cgi?parkid=163). (below)

• The drive from Cairns is about an hour and a half, depending on the weather. 

• What we didn’t do, but was recommended by friends:  see The Rainforest Habitat Wildlife Sanctuary: www.rainforesthabitat.com.au 

• Rent near town so you can walk both the esplanade and the town itself — all within 5-6 blocks. 

• Remember, Queensland does NOT have daylight savings time, unlike most of the rest of Australia. 

• And throughout Australia, drink-driving (DUI) laws are strictly enforced.  

 

 

 

Marmalade, a recipe with friends.

Marmalade, a recipe with friends.

I’m not a fan of marmalade, but I couldn’t resist an invitation to participate in the making of some with friends.  Won’t you come along?  You don’t have to like marmalade either.

First collect friends on the appointed date and drive up over the green escarpment across the ridge and back into a fold to Julie’s place.  Five acres, planted with mulberries, and all kinds of citrus trees – grapefruit, orange, lemon – and a koi pond in the deck and a territorial view.  On this day, the grapefruit was ripe and its pink flesh sweet and the trees were over-producing.

Out from the boot comes kilos of sugar and a wild collection of saved bottles and jars – all shapes and sizes, hidden away until Julie’s trees drip with fruit.  Knives and towels, aprons and jars.  

On go the boots — Wellies and the Blunnnies – me, underprepared for the slippery grass in my well-worn flip-flops, but I manage, muddy toes and all.  The bins and bowls under the trees soon fill with ruby grapefruit and large yellow  lemons, and a few are collected to take home as well to use fresh or covered with salt as preserved lemons.  Off come the shoes at the door and in come the dogs, feet just as muddy.

Wash and slice and hull out the fruit.  Squeeze the last drop of juice into the stainless steel pans.  Remove the white pith and scrape to the skin.  Slice julienne slivers of bright yellow skin from 20 or so.  Wendy is best at this and she shows us how to slice tiny and fine.

We follow a recipe I’d found on the Internet that asks for one kilo of fruit to one kilo of sugar.  No grandma’s recipe had been found, so we go with what we have.  When we have a batch of fruit ready and weighed, we add the sugar and start the slow boil.  Julie stirs.  We add lemon pulp and peel for pectin and watch it carefully.  We chat.  We chop and squeeze the juicy fruit.  We laugh and talk trash and drink ice water for now.  It’s warm in Julie’s kitchen.

Batch #2 gets the same treatment – cut and hull, squeeze and slice very fine.  Chat and laugh – laughter, of course, the finest ingredient.

The color of the cooking marmalade is glorious – sunset orange/pink or is it pink/orange?  Julie paints in acrylics, Wendy paints in oils, and I paint in watercolors. That color is destined to show up in someone’s work soon.  We all remark on its saturation.  And the perfume fills the room.  Breathe it in deep.  Bathe in it.  Rub it into the skin.

Boil the jars and keep them warm, lids too, though most are refrigerator bound unless their lids seal.  And bound for friends too. I wonder if they like marmalade.

Boil and boil gently until the fragrant juice balls on a cold plate.  Ladle it slowly into the jars, clean the lip, and screw the lids down tight.  We run out of time and take some home to finish, to boil or bake and ladle again.

Our friend Margot made hers by herself, from Julie’s grapefruit she took to her home in the New England hills, three hours south.  She found her grandmother’s recipe that called for 2 kilos of sugar to one of fruit rather than the one to one we’d used, and hers was a clearer jelly and sweeter on bread.  I’ll use that recipe next time, but include the laughter and friends and a warm kitchen if I can.

I haven’t been a big fan of marmalade.  In fact, I just couldn’t see what others liked about the tart/sweet taste.  I loved making it though and hug the morning close to me, like a warm old shawl.

But I think I’ve found a taste for that marmalade after all.  I put some on a cheese platter in place of quince paste, thinking that the tart taste might be a good counterpoint to cheese, soft and smooth, hard and tasty – a nice crunch with the ooze and slide.  It’s a lovely leap into a new treat.  

I’ve reassessed.  I’m a marmalade fan, after all.  

Cheese plate with marmalade

In a small bowl, place 1/2 cup marmalade.  On one side, place a wedge of hard cheddar type cheese or a stilton, a soft blue/camembert, and a mild Gouda.  On the other, arrange a selection of crackers and crisp flat bread.  Serve with a “sticky” — ice wine, or a dry port, or a late harvest Shiraz from the Adelaide area of South Australia.

I’ll bet you’ll become a marmalade fan too. 

 

 

 

 

Welcome.

 

Come visit Australia with me.  Be amazed at the breathtaking landscape, incredible restaurants, and the unexpected generosity of the Australian people.  While I may take you with me to some places you’d expect to go, I hope to show you more of the little-known and unexpected corners you may want to visit when you’re lured in to the paradise that is Australia.  

Note: You’ll see “Oz” used from time to time on this blog in place of “Australia.”  Australians refer to their country as “Oz,” not as you might suspect, from The Wizard of Oz, but because of the pronunciation of Australia with a “z” in place of the “s.”   Come along with me to Oz.